Forgiveness
by StarKatt427
Summary: There comes a time where everyone has a breaking point; here's Edmund's. Who better to comfort him than the one he seeks redemption from the most: his big brother, Peter.
1. A Younger Brother's Lament

****Disclaimer********: I do not own anything in the world of Narnia**; everything belongs to C. S. Lewis**.****

**A/N: Here we have it: my first Narnia fanfic and my sixteenth story altogether. The reason I chose to write about Narnia is for two reasons: one, I adore the series, and two, I love the relationship between Edmund and Peter and the way it grows over time to where it's indissolubly devoted; they eventually become each others closest friend. I must say, I was a little unsure of how to go into this universe at first; when I first began writing, I was actually tempted to try composing it in first person. Ultimately, I chose to stick with third, and the reason for that is because I feel like I'm able to capture a character better this way. I think if I tried writing a fanfic in first, I'd have a lot of trouble because these are not my own characters, and I just feel like I wouldn't be able to portray their emotions and personalities correctly. But back to the story; I love it! Taking up four days of actual writing and two for editing, I greatly enjoyed working on this, and as I hardly did any planning before I began work, much of this is sudden and came from what was running through my mind at the time. And let me tell you, I did by no means intend for this story to be so long; once I got writing, so many new ideas came to me and wanted to be written, and I kept going until I was like, "This is it. This is what I've been trying to create." For anyone who would like to know, this takes place in the first movie, _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_, after the Pevensie's coronation; it's not based on the book. As there are no cuss words in the movies and books, this is devoid of language; if C. S. Lewis had wanted his stories riddled with bad words, he would have done that himself, and I didn't want to incorporate that into my own.**

**Feel free to review and tell me how I did, as this is the first time I have ever worked with these characters. Also, let me know if you would like me to publish Peter's chapter, entitled** "An Older Brother's Anguish"**. Eventually, I will post it anyway, but the sooner you ask for it, the sooner I'll have it done!**

**All the thanks in the world!**

**StarKatt427**

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><p><em>"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sin."<em>

1 Peter 4:8

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><p>Long ago, there once was a king—or queen—who gazed out from a balcony belonging to a great citadel, the breathtaking capitol of Narnia: Cair Paravel, with its glass roofs and marble columns and alabaster walls. Once, it had been this king—or queen—looking out with fascinated eye across the cliffs and caves and beaches of the Great River Delta, out to the shores of the Eastern Sea, and far beyond into the glistening midnight waters. They had looked up at the heavens to see the elegant moon and the burning planets, the comets and stars that peppered the velvety black, and had been in wonder with its beauty, just as one of Narnia's new kings now was. The young lord looked around the kingdom he now shared with his siblings with soft eyes and an expression that wasn't quite a smile, yet was peaceful. A soft summer wind brought pale pink petals with it that brushed through his hair and over his face, and he could faintly hear the low, whispering voices of the dryads from whose trees these cherry blossoms had come from.<p>

English boy—Narnian king—Edmund Pevensie wasn't really sure what exactly to think of himself right now, the awe of having just been crowned only hours earlier still one of his foremost thoughts. He could still remember the way his lips had pulled up into a brilliant smile of sheer happiness as he had looked upon the four thrones of the castle, in one of which he would sit, ruling beside his sisters and brother. He could still hear the gentle rumble of Aslan's voice as the Great Lion had announced his new title, could still feel the delightful heat of the name radiating languidly through every cell in his body. Edmund the Just; that was who he was now, a king of Narnia, sitting at Peter's right hand and only a few paces away from Susan and Lucy.

He thought of his sisters, amazed at the warmth it gave him; Susan, his gentle, sometimes overbearing big sister that he loved dearly, and Lucy, the valiant little queen whom he adored more than he let on. They both were a part of his world, his life.

But not quite so much as Peter.

The High King, Peter the Magnificent. The title of his brother filled him with a delicious warmth that had nothing to do with his own happiness, and a smile tugged his lips upward for a moment. Narnia's High King—his High King. Peter was High King, and Edmund, still somewhat surprised not to feel the knot of envy and malice in his chest, wouldn't have had it any other way.

It was still almost implausible to Edmund that he, of all people, was a king, and the ache resurfaced in his chest as past actions took up residence among his thoughts once more; although, he argued, they had never truly left, only slinking away for a few glorious hours. Entering Narnia as a boy hungry for attention, he had transformed into somebody unrecognizable, and he liked the person he was turning into. He had dreamed of becoming a king less than a week ago, but it had been empty wanting, selfish and cruel, without real heart. He had wanted power and to be in control, to make others suffer the way he had, to give people a fiery self loathing, an inside hurt that no amount of healing water could quench. And he had betrayed the people he loved most in the world, all for a power that was never his to inherit in the first place.

Hard to think that had been his outlook on life only a few days ago.

Things were different now; _he _was different, no longer the monster he had once been, if that was believable. After years of loneliness and anger and jealousy and greed, it had only taken a few moments for every evil desire coursing through his young body to ebb away, and the disastrous fire within him was extinguished by something more powerful than any title: love, pure and simple and without reservation.

There was the love of his sisters, sweet and caring and inviting, sweet spring, part of his heart. Susan's arms wrapping around his shoulders from behind, his face buried in her shoulder for just a moment; Lucy's small hand placed comfortingly on his, her little arms tight as they wound around his waist, and he rested his head atop hers.

However, even more than the love he felt for Susan and Lucy was the love of two others who filled the majority of his heart and made his chest swell with so much emotion that it confused him at times.

Aslan's soft truth, purrs of forgiveness and love, the feel of his long, golden mane tangled between a child's fingers; the sacrifice the True King of Narnia had made, giving his own life in exchange for Edmund's, allowing himself to be killed, to bleed out on the Stone Table, fully aware of the Deep Magic that would bring him back into this world. Peter's soft smile, his real smile, as he joked with him, actually _joked _with him by saying not to wander off, his brother's proud gaze as he had refused to leave this new world; Peter leaning over him, blue eyes wide and flooded with tears as he blinked furiously, the feel of his own chest slamming into his older brother's as he had been yanked into a hug that—literally—took the breath right out of his lungs.

The notion of having someone love him, love him long before they had ever met him, had made Edmund's eyes sting with something he refused to let fall, because he was actually loved, even with the sins he had committed still in plain sight and causing consequences that could have been truly disastrous for all of Narnia. Aslan was everything good and whole, everything light and perfect and so utterly wonderful that it had shaken Edmund to the very center of his being. To have someone die for him, to have _Aslan _die for him, made something in his chest dangerously tighten and crawl up his throat and make it hard to swallow, and he was everlastingly grateful to the True King, offering up all that he was to the Lion; his love, his loyalty, his life, and his very soul.

Now the concept of loving Peter this much, however, wasn't quite as simple, and it terrified Edmund in some ways. After years of telling himself he hated his brother, years of being a complete pain and a bother, after ultimately betraying his brother and everything he himself could one day be, Edmund was at a loss of how he was supposed to show this boy just how much he honestly loved him with all of his strength. It made Edmund nervous, having never felt such devotion to someone in his entire life as he did to his brother, and, though he tried to tell himself otherwise, it scared him a little, the way his chest seemed to expand whenever Peter flashed him a smile, laughed, gripped his shoulder comfortingly. He could still feel a slight tension between them brought on by years of bickering, but since the moment Peter had smiled at him in Aslan's camp and had said, "Try not to wander off", it had steadily begun to fade away. He felt closer to his brother, physically and emotionally, a bond that was strengthening and becoming something solid, the pull Edmund felt to Peter so powerful that he had willingly thrown himself into battle against the White Witch in order to keep Peter safe.

Edmund had regrets. He was ashamed of ever allowing the temptations the Witch threw at him with candy and sugar coated words to take hold of his being, strong enough to pierce his greedy soul and make him betray everything that he was. He regretted abandoning his family, making them worry, for causing them so much stress and grief, especially Peter. He hated himself for making Aslan suffer, even though the Great Cat knew he would ultimately live. But there was one thing Edmund didn't regret, and that was taking a broken edged staff in the stomach, shattered crystal shards tearing through flesh and muscles and bringing crimson blood and so much pain he could barely breathe; even though he had nearly been killed by Jadis in the process, he could never regret this because he had protected Peter in the only way he knew how, and that was enough for him.

And here he was, Narnia's then traitor and now it's youngest king. Before and after. Past and present. There and now. Who he had been and who he was and who he was becoming.

Edmund deeply inhaled the summer air, then exhaled softly as he looked out into the Narnian night. He had been in this magical world for nearly a week of Earth time now, and, as he looked out at the sheer beauty of the universe he now called home, Edmund allowed himself to truly bask in its enchantment, to let the warmth of this world flow into his weary heart, and he realized he was in love with this place. Not just Narnia itself, but its inhabitants: the beavers, Lucy's friend, Mr. Tumnus. Philip, Edmund thought somewhat dryly; he actually liked the horse.

He knew what he was leaving behind, back in England, back on Earth, and it made him sad to think of their mother, waiting for the time when they would return home and unaware that it would never come. He thought of their father who wasn't even sure when he would be home. Edmund could remember the man named Collin Pevensie, the images dimmer here than they had been back home—no, Narnia was home now, he corrected. But he could still see the chiseled face and strong features which he knew Peter would soon come in to, the pale blue eyes that all of the four children had been born with save himself, the way the man's eyebrows would furrow when confused, just like Edmund's own did, blonde hair cropped neatly and face clean shaven. The image of his mother was fresher, sadder somehow, as he saw her waving to them the day at the train station, brown eyes shimmering from tears, and Edmund cursed himself for brushing away her hug. He could see her, lips pursed in concentration, an expression Susan could almost perfectly match, could see her give a soft smile, a smile quite similar to his own, and feel her fingers brushing away the hair on his forehead. He could remember her reading bedtime stories to Lucy, back when they were all younger, his mother's face younger and brighter, laugh—

He stopped, eyes widening forlornly.

He couldn't remember his mother's laugh.

"Edmund?"

The young king in question looked over his shoulder to see Peter standing in the opening that led out onto the balcony, an inquisitive half smile on his face. "What are you doing?"

At the sight of his brother, something in Edmund relaxed and tensed at the same time, but the tranquil sensation won over for the moment and he gave his brother a quick little smile. "Wouldn't you like to know," he replied, tone not in the least bit scathing or cold; instead, it was gently teasing and strangely warm, even to his own ears, as he was not quite yet accustomed to the reactions Peter had been managing to pull out of him.

For a moment, Peter's expression was a bit surprised, and then he seemed to understand that Edmund had been _bantering with him_, and a pure, wonderful affection lifted his mouth into a stunning smile and he gave a soft laugh.

Edmund felt his breathing catch for just a heartbeat, because Peter hadn't smiled at him like that in at least two years, and it made his heart ache in both an enjoyable way and a painful one; why had he wasted so much time trying to outdo and wound this noble creature?

As Edmund smiled back somewhat shyly, he noticed something different about Peter's stance, the way he held himself; almost like he was trying to remain where he was, even though he wanted to move. The younger boy watched as he bit his lip, looked of to the side, and then back to Edmund, eyes sparkling in the moonlight and clearly radiating a question.

_Can I join you?_

Edmund blinked, lips parting in a small 'o', as he saw the inquiry clearly now on his brother's face; the way his mouth was pulled up almost nervously, golden brows raised above gleaming eyes. Somehow, Edmund realized, he looked almost _vulnerable_, of all things, which was strange since Peter was anything but weak.

If this had been happening a week ago, Edmund would have flat out ignored Peter, either that or bluntly rejected him. But this wasn't a week ago, and this wasn't England, and Edmund realized there was no way he would ever be able to refuse his brother again.

It didn't require a verbal answer. All it took was a large, honest smile from Edmund, the same one he'd given Peter the day he'd returned to him at Aslan's camp, and Peter was immediately moving forward, smiling the exact same smile _he'd _given _Edmund _that day, this time without any signs of impending stress.

When Peter was on his right side and looking out over the sandy beaches and moonlit water, and Edmund had his elbows perches on the balcony's stone railing, he found himself watching the elder boy with soft brown, almost black, eyes. Peter, like Edmund, had already taken off the cape he had worn at the coronation, but still wore the silky dress clothes he had been in since this morning. He looked tired, the ware of the last few days and the Battle of Beruna still evident, even after his wounds had been healed; but he was happy, a lightness to his movements and expressions that Edmund hadn't seen in a long time, and it made him smile. His thick hair was disheveled, possibly from the earlier dancing, and hanging in blonde wisps over his forehead, the golden crown of the High King tilted on his head more toward the left. At the sight, Edmund felt himself really smile; Peter, at the moment, looked very young and adorable, and it made him happy to see his older brother, for the time being, without worry.

The younger of the two looked back out over the ocean, watching as the waves lapped at the sand, the faint rushing of the tide reaching his ears on the breeze. He smiled. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

He didn't have to glance up to know that Peter was looking at him, already able to feel his brother's gaze. "Yeah," Peter said softly, voice adding even more beauty to the night. "I've never seen anything like it. It's almost prettier now than in the sunlight."

What he said was true, in some ways; Narnia was beautiful at any time of day, in any season; even, Edmund admitted painfully, winter. In the daytime, it was so open and majestic that the very heat of the sun flowed into Edmund's bones and warmed him from the inside out. At night, though, it held a mysterious quality that it somehow lacked during the sunlight hours, a dusky peace that was just as beautiful and maybe even more soothing to Edmund than its sunny counterpart. But the younger brother had a feeling Peter much preferred Narnia during the day, where everything was clear and dazzling; just like his brother, Edmund realized. He himself felt closer to the darkness, even though a childish fear of the black had somewhat crept back into him over the last few days. Edmund felt more like he belonged there, away from the world of his siblings and everything bright. He knew he had always been different than the other three, more introverted, quieter, less affectionate, and where his siblings were blessed with blue eyes and sunnier complexions, Edmund had chocolate brown eyes and pale, ivory skin, skin tone closer to his elder sister's, the look being completed by untidy ebony hair.

He looked back at Peter somewhat sadly, realizing he wouldn't have minded in the least if he had looked more like his brother. But it had always been that way, Edmund wanting to be more like Peter, especially during the last few years. Then, it was about becoming better than him; now, it was simply honoring him.

Trying to keep his thoughts from traveling in a darker direction, into places he wasn't ready to venture, Edmund asked casually, "Where are the girls?"

"In their chambers, getting ready for bed. You should have seen Lu," Peter said dotingly, words more of a laugh. "She was about to collapse on Susan, she's so tired."

A smile of his own came across Edmund's face as he imagined little Lucy, eyes drooping and lids slipping shut, as she tried to stay awake and not miss anything, her frame beginning to sag against Susan as the older sister pulled her off to bed. She had enjoyed today more than maybe anyone except Peter, and it made Edmund's heart soar to know that.

He glanced up from the corner of his eyes at Peter, catching the yawn his brother had just stifled. "You seem pretty tired yourself."

Peter smiled at Edmund, but didn't deny it. "We've been busy." And then he cocked an eyebrow just slightly; a question.

Edmund rolled his eyes affectionately, if nervously, looking away from Peter and back out over the Eastern Sea and praying his brother simply believed he didn't understand what he had silently asked. But Edmund had, and as he felt heat creep up his cheeks, he knew he wasn't ready to answer that question, not yet. Not the one Peter had been trying to ask for two days now and the one Edmund had not yet given him a chance to: _Are you okay?_

Of course he wasn't okay, even though he tried to make Peter and his sisters believe otherwise. In spite of Lucy's healing cordial and a night of rest after the battle, he was still a bit sore, but the physical problems weren't all that Edmund knew Peter worried about; his brother was more concerned with how he was coping. Edmund didn't want him asking that, was _scared _of him asking it, and so he glanced away from Peter resolutely.

Unfortunately, Peter didn't miss the blush flood his brother's face, and Edmund heard him sigh, understanding somewhat Edmund's thoughts and deciding not to push. However, the result of him not prying left them in something that neither could stand, especially Edmund: silence, and an awkward one. Wile he was the one who didn't like to talk as much, it was him more than Peter who hated when the subject ended on an uncomfortable note, and so he tapped his fingers lightly against the stone, looking anywhere but at Peter, too afraid and too willing to start a conversation back up.

Luckily, he didn't have to, as it was Peter who understood it was his job to lead. "What were you thinking about earlier?" he asked, looking down at Edmund just as the younger boy looked up.

"Huh?"

"When I first came out here. You looked…well, really focused. Deep in thought."

"You couldn't even see my face," Edmund argued.

"I didn't have to. The way your shoulders and back were tensed was enough to tip me off."

It came as a surprise, but not a bad one in the least, for Edmund to realize just how observant Peter was when it came to him; on the contrary, it actually made him nearly smile, but he bit the inside of his jaw to keep the emotion from sliding up his face.

"So?"

"What?" Edmund asked innocently.

"So, what were you thinking about?" Peter demanded lightly, smiling with something that would have once been annoyance but was now fond exasperation.

Edmund grinned at Peter, shaking his head once as he closed his eyes, then reopened them to look down at the lower half of the castle, able to see the lights flowing out from windows, the glow casting beams on the trees outside. A sense of timidity welled up inside him as he realized he wasn't sure how to phrase the answer to Peter's question without directly leading to the very thing his brother had been trying to ask him since after Beruna. He raised his gaze and looked back out to the water, the glow of its surface reflecting back onto his face and making him appear even paler than he already was. He sighed.

"Ed?"

"I was just thinking. About everything, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

_So he's really going to make me spell it out_, Edmund thought, somewhat aggravated, but more at himself for not being able to handle any of this by himself than with Peter. "Just…everything. The last week, today. Narnia."

Peter was facing him now, a smile tugging at his lips. "A bit overwhelming, isn't it?"

"Just a tad," Edmund replied sarcastically, but his voice was missing the biting edge that he had hoped to achieve; instead, it sounded somewhat shaky. Gosh, he was nervous, heart hammering unnervingly against his ribs, a lump beginning to obstruct his airway and make swallowing difficult.

The eldest Pevensie missed nothing, highly aware of how Edmund's retort had barely held any of the sardonic sting it should have and instead sounded awfully small. He took a deep breath. "Edmund?"

"What?"

"What else is there?"

Edmund looked up at Peter, lips parting to deny anything else was bothering him, but he saw an expression on Peter's face he'd grown accustomed to seeing these last few days: determination, steadfastness to find out what Edmund wasn't saying. Against his will, it made every excuse die on his tongue because Peter _really cared_. Almost choking on air, Edmund looked down at his hands, thankful that they weren't trembling. "Do you have to be so observant?" he asked quietly.

He earned a rough chuckle from Peter, and the older boy put a hand on his hip. "Always, Ed. Now what's wrong?"

Edmund exhaled slowly, looking downward on dark shores as his thoughts floated a world away, focusing somewhat dimly on a face, one he would never see again. "I miss Mum," he admitted softly as the edges of Helen Pevensie's face blurred in his mind, her smile already beginning to evaporate and leave him.

Peter said nothing. There was no need to, for the harsh intake of breath was enough for Edmund to know that his brother understood. The older boy did not try to comfort him, something Edmund was somehow grateful for and yearned after at the same time, because it was still too soon for their bond to delve in these unknown depths. They had only just begun to get along a few days earlier, and while Edmund was beginning to warm up to this new relationship, this new, unfamiliar warmth, he wasn't ready for the moment that he knew would inevitably come, when the time would arrive that would determine if their rapport would rise into something concrete or fall and disintegrate before his very eyes.

Edmund anxiously looked up and met his brother's steady gaze. "Do…do you?" he asked, referring to their mother.

Something twisted in Peter's features for just a moment, a tightening of his eyebrows and the pulling of his mouth into a painful line; and just as Edmund was able to comprehend his bother's expression read _sadness_, he seemed to regain control of himself. Peter attempted to smile. "Of course I do," he said heavily, trying to achieve an easier, light tenor and nearly succeeding. "And Dad."

_Dad…_

Trying not to think back to his father, Edmund turned away from the boy at his side that looked so much like this man he didn't want to remember, and he stared at the sky, chest tightening. "Will it get any easier? Missing them."

Peter sighed, a somewhat forlorn sound, as he lifted his face and looked to the same sky the younger king gazed at so intently. "I don't know," he half whispered.

A fierce pang hit Edmund's heart, but it wasn't as painful as it could—should—have been. The knowledge that he would never see his parents again hurt, but the ache was not unbearable; he had Susan and Lucy. Aslan. Peter. His brother's words of uncertainty weren't as disheartening as he had feared they would be, and it was all because Peter was beside him, feeling quite similar. This was a burden he could share with all of his siblings.

For just a few moments of silence, Edmund let himself think of Aslan as he had last seen him, the Cat's giant head butting affectionately against his chest, deep laugh rumbling from his throat and into the boy's slight body. He could still feel the Aslan's thick main, warm and softer than it looked, and see his gracious, timeless honey gold eyes watching him with all the love in the world. Edmund's nostrils flared with the recalled tang of wild earth that was about the Lion's righteous figure, pleasant and terrifying.

Though it hadn't been out rightly stated, Edmund had sensed a farewell in his last encounter with Aslan; not forever, but for a while, and it made him sad to know that he wouldn't see this beautiful creature, the Great King who had died in his stead, for a long while.

But he had Peter, and Susan and Lucy, and that was really all he needed.

"Kings," he mumbled softly, more to himself. "I can't believe we're actually _kings_."

Peter laughed in understanding, crossing his arms over his chest in a relaxed manner. "It's not going to be easy, ruling over this place."

The weight of the silver crown Edmund now wore on his head was a comfort and a burden, and he swallowed thickly. "Is anything?"

The eldest boy was silent for a second, deliberating, until, with completely certainty, he said, "Yes."

Edmund looked curiously up at him. "What?"

Peter eyed him softly, gaze unusual as it seemed to be both searching and almost revealing at the same time, but before Edmund could come to even partly grasp his brother's look, he had turned away with a small laugh and a crooked grin. And Edmund realized, shocked, that Peter was blushing; his cheeks had color to them, and while he didn't looked entirely comfortable, their was a fondness to his smile that Edmund was unable to comprehend.

At Edmund's questioning look, Peter gave another smile. "Never mind." He sounded, strangely enough, nervous.

For now, Edmund decided to let it go, but he still wondered just what his big brother had been thinking about to draw that kind of almost flustered reaction out of him. So he nodded and turned away, storing this information away for a later moment, and tried not to let Peter see just how interested he was.

The breeze blew across his cheeks, salt air and the smell of clean soil, and Edmund found himself being pulled into a sense of peace, almost as if Narnia itself was trying to soothe him. As he closed his eyes, he could feel tranquility attempting to wrap around his soul, to lull him, wanting to protect him from his every fear, and he wanted so badly to fall into it, to be swept away on albatross wings and ride the land on a lion's back. He wanted to feel clear blue water beneath his feet, the sun warm on his skin. It was a gentle calling.

And then he thought of Peter, and the desire to bask in this perfection fled him as he opened his eyes, breaking whatever trance had been pulling at him.

Because it wasn't perfection, not with the darkness of sin still heavy on his heart, not with the pain and sorrow that tried to gnaw at him. And, most of all, it wasn't perfection without Peter.

Edmund balled his hands into fists, cool stone beneath his knuckles, and forced himself to take several deeps breaths so that he could calm his racing heart enough to speak. "Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"Sorry."

Edmund could see Peter looking at him, his expression baffled. "What for?" the High King asked.

_What for?_ Edmund snorted thickly, looking downward as that horrid, cotton like feeling clogged his throat, and he felt a faint stinging at the back of his eyes. "For everything. Being a prick, for one."

Peter lifted a hand, and while Edmund watched from the corner of his eye as his brother reached up to touch him, he felt something within him tense at the oncoming contact; not because it wasn't wanted, but because he didn't deserve it. Peter must have noticed the tightness in his posture, because his hand hesitated above the younger boy's shoulder, and when Edmund looked him full in the face with heavy eyes, Peter's expression was worried and, surprisingly, a little lost, like he wasn't exactly sure what he was doing.

"Ed, come on," he began, lowering his hand with clear reluctance so that it hung at his side. "That's in the past now, just like Aslan said."

"I was jealous of you."

The confession was sudden, raw with self loathing as it burst from Edmund's lips. It was true, so true and so stupid, so human, that it disgusted Edmund to have ever felt like this toward his brother. But envy _was _a human emotion, and he could do nothing except admit the truth to Peter, even as he realized he was beginning to answer that one question he had tried so firmly to avoid for as long as possible. Yet he couldn't stop, not now.

Edmund stared at the Magnificent with dark eyes as he watched his brother's own blue widen at his words, and he heard Peter's breath strangle in his throat, saw his lips part. He didn't exactly look shocked, but the emotion was still faintly there, overshadowed by something Edmund thought to be painful understanding. Of course Peter had known he was jealous of him, it was obvious, Edmund realized.

"You were always the popular one, the one who smiled and laughed and made everyone like him without even trying," he continued, a tiny quaver sneaking into his voice. "You always had Mum's praise and Dad's respect because you were the eldest and the man of the house when he left. Susan and Lucy adored you, still do, and I knew they loved you in a way they didn't me. Everyone loved you. Even me." Edmund sighed shakily, tone growing quieter. "Especially when I tried to hate you."

The words poured from his mouth like acid, bile burning the back of his throat and the flush of his own anger traveling from his cheeks to his eyes, where they began to burn with something he refused to even consider were tears. He could feel a faint tremble traveling down to his fingers, and he clenched them so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palms. But he didn't stop; inflicting pain upon himself felt good right now.

Edmund gave a deprecating laugh directed to his inner self, closing his eyes for just a moment to try and stop their stinging as he took the time to gather his bearings, acutely aware of how close Peter was to him, able to feel the heat his brother radiated and hear the shallow breaths he was taking. "I wanted so much to hate you," he continued, "but you made it hard, even when I was mad at you. I wanted your approval, to make you proud, but then I would remember something you had done to make me mad, and I would push that notion out of my mind. Deep down, I think I knew you wanted to do what was best for me, but I thought you were trying to replace Dad, and I hated it. I wanted…wanted to hate you so much, but I couldn't. Ever."

"Edmund…"

"When I came back the day at Aslan's camp, I almost wanted you to hate me."

He turned his face to Peter, mouth drawn in a painful scowl as he looked bluntly upon his brother's wounded face, eyes large and trembling and lips forming words that refused to be made known. And when he did manage to say something, it was to ask, "What?", his voice so fragile that it nearly broke Edmund's heart.

Edmund had to look away, too afraid that he would shut his mouth and pretend none of this had ever happened. However, the comprehension that this was the only time he would ever be able to say these things to Peter kept his resolve from yielding. "I was the traitor, Peter. I didn't deserve to have you or the girls or Aslan, and I thought that maybe everything would be better if you would just push me away and say goodbye. Some part of me wanted you to not ever forgive me, because maybe then it would be easier to leave, to not have to face my sin head on, and then maybe I would be able to keep you three safe. But I was being selfish, wanting that, and I was even more so because I _wanted _you to forgive me."

"Ed, really, it's—"

"Peter. Shut up," Edmund said, voice cracking, even as he tried to steady it, and he closed his eyes and attempted to block out Peter's hurt expression, wishing more than anything that he was not the cause of that pain. "I…I wanted more than anything for you to forgive me, even than for you to hate me," he admitted, sounding awfully young at the moment, even to his own ears. "I was scared that morning, when I stood in front of you three. I was afraid I'd be turned away, even though I knew it would be better if you _did _reject me. Maybe…" He swallowed thickly. "Maybe I thought it would be better if…if I were dead."

In just one second, Peter's eyes went from soft to outraged and frustrated, and he glowered back at Edmund, his features twisting into a mask of looming rage, anger rising along with his voice. "That doesn't give you the right to throw yourself into a spear, you _idiot_!" he spat, nearly pulling a flinch from Edmund. "You almost _did _die. Do you honestly believe things would have been better that way?"

"I don't know!" Edmund yelled back, his own fury growing with every word that fell from Peter's lips, yet he somehow managed to keep his temper in check better than Peter did. "At the moment, I couldn't have cared less about what happened to me. I just wanted to keep you safe!"

_Oh no._ Edmund nearly clamped a hand over his mouth at his words, the reality of them, and the affect that they had on both him and Peter, because it was totally true; he hadn't been thinking about his own life in any way, only Peter's, and he had been determined more than anything to keep his brother alive.

It was almost like he had physically hit Peter; he watched his brother pull back, face unguarded, shocked, as he stared at Edmund, eyes rounded with pain. "Edmund, it…it's not your job to protect me."

"Then who else will?" Edmund countered bitterly, glaring fiercely at his brother. "I wanted to at least _try _and make up for some of the evil I did, and I thought that if I died protecting you, maybe I would earn just an ounce of mercy. But it's not that easy, and I was just being a coward again." He gave a harsh, hoarse laugh. "And you know, I was still too weak to leave you three, even if it meant keeping all of you safe. I was too selfish. Because maybe if I had never come back, you wouldn't have been hurt and more Narnians would have lived and…and _Aslan _wouldn't have had to die—!"

"You know he did that willingly!" Peter retorted, voice quiet and incensed but holding a softness it hadn't possessed before Edmund's confession.

"That doesn't matter because he _died._ _He _died when _I _should have been the one to, and I would have been dead even earlier if not for him. I was supposed to die on the Stone Table, and then when the Witch stabbed me. I-I should be dead _now_."

"That is _not _true!" Peter interrupted fervently, eyes blazing blue fire as he glared at Edmund, and the younger boy found himself speechless for just a few moments. "How could you…how could you even _think _that?"

Edmund was one who was able to remain calm in most situations. He had discovered over the last few days that he actually did not have that quick of a temper, and that it was easier to remain composed than to blow up in anger. If enraged enough, he had a fiery temper and a sharp tongue, but for the most part, it took much persisting to get him riled up, this having been his attitude before his father had left for the war and Peter had begun to grow into the protective, sometimes unintentionally harsh big brother that he was. Up until this point, Edmund had managed to predominantly keep his emotions in check; the breaking of his voice, the shaking hands, the slight sting behind his eyes…they were the only signs that he was beginning to wear down.

However, at Peter's furious question, the spark, Edmund felt the fuse ignite, and then everything came out in a garbled rush as he exploded.

"Because I don't deserve you!" he screamed, voice pitching up an octave as he turned to completely face Peter, chocolate eyes livid and wild with emotion. "Because I'm a _traitor_, and I don't deserve _any _of this! I _shouldn't _be king, and I _shouldn't _be here. I shouldn't even be alive, Peter!"

"Don't you _dare_!"

Edmund's eyes widened at Peter's yell, an uproar pitched deeper and possibly more vociferous than his own, each word emphasized, sharp and pain filled. Without even realizing the older boy had moved, Edmund found just few inches separating himself from Peter, his brother having come closer, so close that it made the younger's heart ache to have Peter so near and knowing that he was so undeserving of this magnificent king. "Don't you ever, _ever_, say you shouldn't be alive, Ed," he growled, hands moving up to grip Edmund's shoulders firmly, fingers digging into the material of his shirt and, beneath, his skin, shaking Edmund slightly to stress his words. "You have every right to be here. You came back, and that's all that matters. Aslan forgave you. _I _forgive you, Lucy and Susan do. Why can't you see that?" he asked desperately.

Edmund pulled away as soon as the words left Peter's mouth, trying to put space between himself and his brother once again, struggling so hard to put up the crumbling barrier that had been in existence for years now, the one that had steadily been weakening since he'd realized just how evil he had been to his brother; the one that kept Peter at a distance. But there was no time to throw it back up, and he was already so weak from trying to keep it in place, and, more importantly, he couldn't seem to find it.

Instead, all he could do was shout back. "Because it doesn't make any bloody sense for you to forgive me!"

He glared at Peter, entire body trembling with anger at himself and guilt and so much pain and sorrow and fear that it nearly drowned him. The prospect that this boy, this utterly benevolent soul, could ultimately accept him back, almost as if his betrayal had never occurred…that Peter might actually _love _him…the concept was unknown to Edmund, yet completely desired after.

Peter watched him, face so distressed and astonished at the same time that it tore at Edmund's heartstrings, and all he wanted to do was fall at his brother's feet and beg him not to turn him away. Yet he stood glaring at Peter, body shaking as he waited for the boy to say something.

The Magnificent lifted a hand, and Edmund watched as it steadily drew toward his face, until he could feel a soft pressure on his cheek; Peter's thumb. Too shocked and choked to even try to push him away, Edmund remained still, knowing good and well that Peter would be able to feel his quivering. The pad of his brother's finger moved gently over his cheek, up to the hollow beneath his left eye.

When Peter pulled his thumb back, illuminated in the moonlight and by the faint glow of the torches, there was a single tear drop on it. "Edmund," he whispered, his own voice ravaged.

And then Edmund was acutely aware that his face was wet.

He was crying.

At the knowledge that he had been crying for at least the last half of his declaration, a fresh flood of horrid tears obscured his vision, and then they were gushing miserably from his eyes and falling down his cheeks, and he couldn't believe he was actually _crying_. He had been trying so hard not to let the moisture in his eyes take control of his emotions, but when the reality hit him that he was actually telling Peter his deepest fears, he understood that this moment had been in the making for years, and he found that in front of his big brother, he couldn't make himself stop crying. Ashamed, he lifted his hands up and covered wet eyes with the heels of his palms, trying to stop his breathing from doing that annoying hitching sound.

He had seen Peter's face, so tragic and painfully familiar, and he wished his brother wouldn't waste that emotion on him; not so much because he felt himself unworthy, but simply because he hated seeing Peter sad. And now, even with his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over them, tears steadily making fresh tracks down his cheeks, he knew Peter was still looking at him like that, and it physically _hurt_.

Forcing himself to look at his brother, he lowered one hand and opened his left eye, hot saltiness on his face and neck and wrists, and when he looked at Peter, he saw his brother watching him with so much earnest longing that Edmund had to bite back a sob because he wanted to genuinely believe in his brother. He glanced down for a moment, then back upward. "I don't get it," Edmund mumbled, voice fracturing, the heel of his palm painful over his right eye as he attempted to push the tears back into his skull; tears that, no matter how hard he tried to make them end, steadily descended his cheeks in crystal clear tracks, and he glared down at the space between them, too ashamed to look up at Peter. Trying to repress the way his shoulders trembled, biting down on his bottom lip until he could faintly taste iron blood, he was unable to stop crying, his chest constricting with every word. "I don't understand how you can forgive me after everything I've done. I betrayed you, I almost got you and the girls k-killed. I was horrible back home. And you act like it's nothing, like m-my betrayal wasn't beastly, w-wasn't evil." He wiped furiously at his eyes, but it did little good as more saltwater escaped them, and he took a shallow, aching breath. "You should hate m-me, but you don't. Why?" He glared up at Peter, furious and confused and scared. "Why don't you hate me, P-peter?"

A startled yelp exited his lips as Edmund suddenly found himself wrapped in strong arms, his chest pulled flush to his brother's, and Peter was holding him.

Peter hadn't hugged him in years; a better way of wording it would be to say Edmund hadn't ever really allowed him to in the first place, never giving him the chance or wanting him to. So it was understandably scary for him when he realized Peter was actually _holding _him, and even more so when he didn't want him to stop. He remained unmoving, arms at his sides as they were crushed against him, and he was horribly aware of just how hard he was shaking now that he was pulled against Peter's chest.

"It's easy, really," Peter replied gently, thickly, like he himself was close to tears. But that was absurd; Peter didn't cry, not strong, solid Peter. Not Edmund's rock. No, his brother couldn't cry, because Edmund couldn't remember truly seeing him cry; childish scrapes were one thing, but he had never seen Peter cry out of real emotion, not even when their father had left. Not that Peter was unemotional; it was just the opposite, his feelings being the fire to his soul, sometimes clouding his decisions and making his actions rash. The only time in memory that Edmund could even remember seeing his brother on the verge of crying had been when he had awaken on the battlefield to see Peter looking down at him with tear filled eyes, smile relieved and overjoyed and grateful. But he hadn't let them fall.

Peter didn't cry.

Of course, Edmund had just believed _himself _to not cry.

He felt a hand cradling the back of his head, fingers brushing through his hair, and Peter's warm, shaky breath on his cheek. "I love you," the young king replied quietly, voice soft and affectionate and filled with a choked emotion, and Edmund's eyes went wide. "That's why."

The desire to flee, to pull away from Peter and curl in on himself, to keep himself safe…this desire was still within Edmund, slight panic flashing at the physical contact, at being held by his brother. His heart lodged in his throat and his body jerked with tears, but he found that more than anything, he didn't want to pull away because Peter was actually _hugging him_, holding him and comforting him.

Edmund stiffened for just a moment, battle raging within him to either tug free or sink into his brother's warmth. He inhaled sharply, preparing to extricate himself from Peter's hold…

And found himself sobbing hopelessly into Peter's shoulder instead.

Because he forgave him. Peter forgave him, even after every horrible thing he had done, even after betraying his trust and everything that made them brothers. Because he was here, because he wasn't going to abandon him. Because Peter _loved _him.

Edmund felt his heart break out of sheer relief and at the same time swell with so much happiness that the organ ruptured from his throat as a wail, and he gripped the back of Peter's tunic and buried his face against his neck, hot tears running into his mouth and onto Peter's skin. Not that Peter minded; Edmund could feel his brother's shuddering breath, and then Peter's arms were squeezing him with enough force to shatter his ribs, but Edmund could have cared less because it felt so good to be held. One hand on the back of his head, fingers gripping his hair, and the other firmly on his lower back, Peter held him protectively and allowed him to cry freely, and when the time came when Edmund began having trouble catching his breath, he was instantly soothed by a hand rubbing over his back and the softness of Peter's voice.

"Shh, it's fine. I know, Ed. I know."

"No-no, you don't," Edmund whimpered, grip on Peter's shirt so tight that his hands began to ache, but he refused to let go; what would guarantee this boy would still remain if he did? He breathed in deeply, inhaling Peter's smell and trying to memorize it: summer and clean laundry and sunlight.

Over the hiccupping of his tears, Edmund heard Peter laugh wetly, then felt a delicate brush to the top of his head, on his hair; a kiss, and his brother sighed into the wavy mass of raven hair. Edmund tensed, unused to Peter using such an action to convey emotion with him. "I do. Trust me."

Edmund sniffed, wiping one of his cheeks across the material of Peter's shirt, refusing to move. "Of c-course I trust you," he said, wishing his voice wasn't so congested with tears and didn't sound so little. But his words were true; he _did _trust Peter, more than anyone save Aslan.

"Then please look at me."

Even in this moment when Edmund felt his every defense beginning to crumble, there was still a small trace of resistance, and he did not want to let Peter see his face, not now. However, the urge to ultimately please his brother was beginning to triumph over everything else, and even more so was the desire to obey Peter; he couldn't deny him, whether it being because he was High King or just his brother, Edmund didn't know. Still, for just a few more moments, he forced himself to shove his face deeper into Peter's neck.

Lips brushed against his left temple and warmth flooded over his skin as his brother turned to him, and Edmund's breath caught on a fresh bout of tears. "Please?" Peter asked, voice a laugh at Edmund's stubbornness and still somewhat without true cheer.

This time, the amount of forlornness in his brother's voice broke all of his resolve to remain hidden, and, still trembling, he unclenched his hands and pulled them back to where they lay on Peter's chest. He lifted his face from his brother's neck to watch him nervously with large eyes, tears glittering as they caught in his lashes. Edmund tried to bite back the hitching sounds that exited his throat, but they refused to be dismissed and entered the world just as a few more tears fell from his eyes.

With his lips parted, Peter gave a trembling little sigh that could only be a laugh, blue eyes swimming stormily as he looked softly at Edmund, and the younger brother watched as the elder lifted his hands, hands much larger than his own and several shades darker. Slowly, Peter reached up and let the tips of his fingers graze over Edmund's face, and then they were gently cupping his cheeks, Peter's thumbs padding over the tear tracks that glistened on them.

Edmund was frozen, but for only a moment. Mortified because he was still crying, he tried to jerk his face away from Peter's hands, but Peter would have none of that; before Edmund could even look away, the older boy had caught his chin with his left hand and was forcing him to look directly back at him. Edmund blinked quickly as Peter sighed, and then his fingers began delicately tracing around and over his eyes, brushing aside the hair from his forehead. Edmund's lips trembled as his brother's palm skimmed over them, his hands on Peter's chest shakily flattening to where his right rested directly over the older boy's heart, the beat strong and steady and oh so comforting against his small hand.

"You…" Peter began quietly, voice catching as his hands stilled on his little brother's face. "You _do _know I love you, right?" he asked nervously.

Edmund felt his eyes go wide all over again as his brother said that word once more: love. It made something within him melt, and whatever it was caused his tear ducts to inflame, because in answer to Peter's question, a broken sob spilt from his lips and more tears fell hotly down his face and onto his brother's hands. And even now, when he was so utterly happy that he could hardly stand it, he continued to cry because he couldn't help it.

Behind the mist of tears, Edmund saw Peter's eyes enlarge, hands fumbling as they caressed his cheeks, believing Edmund's tears to still be from sorrow. "Hey, hey," he mumbled worriedly, moving closer to the younger boy until the back of Edmund's hands were pressed against his own chest, palms still over Peter's, and Peter brushed his fingers reassuringly over his soft cheeks. "Why are you crying?"

And then, with tears falling onto his lips and coating his face, Edmund grinned brightly up at Peter, giving him a watery laugh. "Because I _know_," he said, his hand moving from Peter's chest until his palm was resting over his brother's right hand on his cheek, his other hand remaining over Peter's heart.

Peter looked at him for a moment, almost as if he didn't understand, and Edmund felt fear beginning to try and worm its way into his stomach at the idea that his brother couldn't hear what he hadn't said. But Peter's lips quickly lifted into a small curve, then to a pure, angelically beautiful smile, and he turned his hand to wrap around Edmund's as he gave a small laugh of his own, craning his neck downward to bump his forehead against Edmund's.

Because, Edmund realized, Peter _had _understood what he couldn't quite yet, after years of pain and hurt and estrangement, put into words: _I love you too._

Edmund twined his smaller fingers through Peter's, amazed to find himself craving the feel of his brother, and he held his hand tightly, blinking tears down his cheeks and smiling as he hiccupped. He could feel Peter's breath fanning over his face, warm and comforting.

"I'm lucky to have you as a brother," Peter said, the tip of his nose touching Edmund's as he looked at him with suspiciously bright blue-gray eyes, eyes that were, Edmund realized, in fact brimming with tears. At his brother's words, Edmund felt himself blush, but he didn't pull away, entirely too entranced by Peter's gentle, if tearful, smile, the sentiment in his big brother's eyes an amalgamation of complete affection and trust and pride and love, the last of which emotion made Edmund's chest feel very light and his soul tremendously warm.

Voice still filled with tears and somewhat husky, Edmund gave a slight smile, wishing he sounded as sincere as he felt. "I think it's the other way around, brother."

Peter closed his eyes and laughed, trying, Edmund realized, to push away his own tears, even as one trailed gracefully down his cheek. Releasing Edmund's hand, his slipped his arms comfortably around the younger's waist, pulling him close, just as Edmund found his own arms wrapping securely around his brother's back, and he sighed as he closed his damp eyes and rested his cheek against the base of Peter's throat.

He could barely hear his brother's reply, it was so soft. "Maybe we're both lucky."

Edmund smiled.

Maybe that was true.

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><p>Some time later, when almost all of the lamps of Cair Paravel had been extinguished and most of it's inhabitants were sound asleep, Edmund found himself in his brother's room curled against Peter's side, hands fisted in the soft material of the his brother's nightshirt and legs tangled with the older boy's longer ones beneath downy blankets. Head resting on Peter's shoulder, he was highly aware of nimble fingers stroking through his hair, his brother's chin resting comfortably on the top of his head. Edmund's breathing came more gently now, no longer strangled by tears, and his eyes felt heavy and still somewhat wet from crying, any tear tracks on his face long ago removed by Peter's careful hands. He buried his nose into Peter's shirt, closing his eyes as he inhaled contently.<p>

Peter's fingers stilled at the action, then moved from Edmund's hair to his face, and the younger boy looked up to see the elder gazing at him, eyes tender and concerned in the dim torchlight as he cradled Edmund's cheek. "You alright?" he asked, a finger brushing over the skin beneath Edmund's eye, as if to wipe away an invisible tear.

_He's worried about me_, Edmund thought, feeling pleased by the idea and also a bit exasperated; Peter had better things to worry about now that he was High King. Still, knowing that his brother loved him enough to worry when absolutely nothing, at the moment, was wrong made Edmund's heart swell within his chest, and he smiled somewhat shyly up at Peter. "Yes."

The High King smiled back, flashing bright teeth, and draped his arm over Edmund's back, wrapping it loosely around him, other hand moving once more to the younger's hair so he could continue stroking through it. "Good. I'm glad."

"Me too." Edmund burrowed himself further against his brother's side, relishing in the warmth he gave off. He looked up at Peter with a child-king's eyes, eyes that were beginning to show signs of sleepiness, but they remained alert for the moment. "And you? Are you okay?"

He felt the older boy's hand tighten where it rested against his stomach, and Edmund watched Peter laugh, the sound rich and enchanting. "I don't think I've felt this good in a long time," he responded softly.

The Just King smiled tenderly, face diffidently affectionate as he hid it against Peter's shirt, an indication that the older king's reply had made him happy. He heard Peter chuckle, his arms tightening around Edmund, as he physically told him he understood; words weren't necessary. Not anymore.

As he sank into the heat of his brother's body, Edmund found himself quickly being overcome with sleepiness, even as he tried to stay awake, and he yawned. He could tell Peter was still awake, the eldest king's breathing not yet deep enough for sleep, and so Edmund fought to stay beside him in consciousness, a battle he was progressively losing.

"You should sleep," Peter said, able to tell Edmund was battling slumber.

Edmund shook his head against the boy's shirt, forcing his eyes open. "Not sleepy," he mumbled, causing Peter to laugh quietly. Edmund lifted his face to glare softly at him.

"Ed, you can hardly keep your eyes open."

"You're not fairing so well yourself, O mighty king," Edmund retorted, voice devoid of any actual venom, which he knew Peter would be able to tell.

It was true though, now that he was actually looking up at his brother. Peter's eyes were growing heavy as well, exhaustion about to get the best of him. But, like Edmund, he was fighting it off for as long as possible, and when Peter shrugged artlessly, Edmund gave him a crooked, rare grin.

"We're both hopeless," Peter muttered, smiling as he looked to the ceiling, then closed his eyes as he released a breath.

Edmund continued to watch him, fascinated by how much Peter had seemed to age since he had come to Narnia; not just his actions, but physically as well. His face didn't seen as round as it had been back in England, the last traces of baby fat beginning to disappear and give way to a lean jaw and strong neck. There was a new regal air to his features; golden hair falling naturally over his forehead, blue eyes piercing and bright, smile even more radiant. He had changed, but it was in a good way, just as Edmund's own transformation had benefited him in the long run.

As he looked at Peter's relaxed face, the image of him earlier, that strange, almost smile on his face, came to Edmund's mind. He saw his brother, eyes reflective and seeking and enlightening as he had looked upon him, the way he'd turned away and dismissed whatever he had been thinking, cheeks colored by a blush. Curious, Edmund pushed himself upward, the top of his head against Peter's jaw. "Pete?"

"Hm?" said boy asked sleepily in his throat.

"Earlier, when I asked you if anything was easy, you came up with something that was, didn't you?"

Peter went rigid against him, eyelids tightening. He didn't answer.

But Edmund saw the way he swallowed and could tell he was biting faintly at the inside of his bottom lip.

That was his answer.

"What was it?"

Peter sighed, eyes opening, blue irises staring upward, away from Edmund. But he was relaxed now, body molded back into Edmund's. He remained silent.

"Peter?" Edmund asked, lifting himself up on his elbow to look down at his brother and allowing the boy's hand to fall away from his hair, his eyes timid.

"Is," the Magnificent said simply.

"Huh?"

Peter's eyes moved until he was looking up at Edmund. "You said was. Past tense." He picked his hand up once more and gently placed it entirely upon Edmund's head. "It should be _is_. Present tense."

Edmund's brow creased, hand releasing his brother's shirt to lay flat over his chest. "I… don't understand," he stated quietly.

Peter gave a half laugh, ruffling Edmund's hair. He gazed at him fondly, a faint blush that was visible to the younger in the subdued light staining his cheekbones. "Well, it _is _easy to love you."

Edmund's eyes grew large, mouth opening, and heat crawled up his own cheeks at his brother's words. But he didn't look away. The statement touched his heart, affecting him more than he realized it would, a change beginning to take place inside his soul that he wouldn't be able to fully understand for another several years.

But what Peter said was impossible; loving him couldn't be _easy_, right? He was such a foul git and didn't deserve to have Peter by his side. So…

"How?" he asked brokenly, voice an incredulous whisper.

Peter seemed to recognize every insecurity and fear chasing through his heart, for he lifted his head up enough to look at Edmund levelly, gaze steady and mouth pulled into a small, wholesome smile. "Because you make it easy."

Before, when Edmund's tears had finally subsided, he had hoped he would be done with crying for a long while, where never again would have been too soon. Now, however, to his embarrassment, he felt hot moisture well up in his eyes and slowly spill from them, even as he smiled. And, without thinking about it that much, he moved his arms and twined them around Peter's lower back, deciding it wasn't so bad to be weeping right now.

Peter sighed as he realized Edmund was crying, simply muttering, "Silly," tone loving and somewhat amused as his own arms encircled the younger king, and he leaned down to plant a soft kiss to one of Edmund's closed eyes.

Instead of shying away from the touch, Edmund heaved a pleased sighed and, for once, found he didn't really mind very much as he felt his brother's lips trace over his other eye. He felt Peter smile, and then the older boy buried his face in Edmund's hair.

For the first time in years, Edmund could find no anger in his heart. He felt safe and, while no where near as strong as he had often told himself, he felt forgiven and loved, even if he could not just yet find it within himself to absolve his sins; however, there would be plenty of time to learn how, and he would have his three favorite people in the universe with him to help along the way. There was Lucy's loyalty, Susan's gentleness, and Peter's all consuming strength and trust.

Eyes closed, wrapped up in Peter's arms, he welcomed the sweet sleep that came upon him as he felt his brother's affection and devotion settle into his very core, right next to Aslan's eternal love.

And that was all he had ever wanted.


	2. An Older Brother's Anguish

****Disclaimer:** **I do not own anything in the world of Narnia**; everything belongs to C. S. Lewis**.********

**A/N: Part Two, Peter's chapter; here it is! After twelve days, ten of writing and two of editing, it is finished, and I'm proud to say that I love it, just as I love Edmund's chapter. You know, starting off, I asked myself how I could possibly make this idea of Peter's pain into a story as long as Edmund's...well, I think that question has clearly been answered. On WordPad, there's a word difference of over 7,000, Peter's story being over half as long as Edmund's, and that's after I took out a full three pages. And for this, I feel kind of bad, because I'm scared I wasn't able to give Edmund the attention he deserved. I was shocked when I finished this because of the length, but I just couldn't stop writing until I was able to say I had captured Peter's emotions as best I could, and I'm prod of the way it came out; and, on another note, I think you can kind of see into Edmund's mind, as he has a lot of dialogue, so maybe that can make up for Peter having a longer story. I decided to put Aslan in this chapter, and I like the way he turned out, and, as he is like supposed to be alternate form of Jesus, I found ways to slip in some references that can been seen as Biblical. Peter's story takes place after the Second Battle of Beruna in the film_ Prince Caspian_, not the book. Again, no cuss words, and I take no credit for any characters.**

**Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed **"A Younger Brother's Lament"**, and I hope you'll leave your comments on this the second chapter, telling me your thoughts; I would also appreciate it if you'd inform me if you find any grammar mistakes. And please, _please_ let me know how you feel about the length, because that worries me a bit! Also, as another little goody, when **"An Older Brother's Anguish"** gets five reviews (the number that Chapter One has at the time I'm writing this), I will post the deleted three pages. I'll go on and say that they focus a bit more on Edmund and a character that's new to Narnia: one of my own invention. Remembering back to the Golden Age, it tells of just how grown up Edmund had become. Let me know if you would like to read it :)**

**Thanks, guys!**

**StarKatt427**

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><p><em>"A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity."<em>

Proverbs 17:17

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><p>Night was just dawning, the sun no longer in sight, and yet there was still a brightness to the world that allowed the surrounding hills and trees and heights of the crags that made up the How to be visible, not quite yet succumbed to complete darkness. The atmosphere was clement, warm with a slight breeze that tasted like the sweetness of summer and carried the sticky, metallic stench of sweat and blood and death, the above sky starless, cloudy and steadily growing darker, rising moon hidden behind a thick cover of moist vapors. The land was riddled with craters, the result of boulders thrown by catapults, fresh, deep brown earth plowed and grass ripped away. Across the field, the line of the forest was faintly detectable, trees vague outlines, and beyond the massive wood flowed the Great River, where Aslan had called a vast water god to destroy the bridge built by the Telmarines and subdue their remaining forces.<p>

The outcome had been in their favor. Now, clusters of red tents covered the ravaged field, warm fires and glowing will-o'-the-wisps floating enchantingly from tent to tent. Healers traveled around tending to the wounded constantly, nymphs and dryads moving about, and unharmed soldiers were crowded around the flames: fauns, satyrs, dwarfs, and a number of bears, large cats, badgers and mice. Centaurs moved with quick strides around to check on others, the muscles of their lower horse halves rippling with their steps. Thankfully, not many Narnians were injured, and they were being treated by the best healers—including two certain queens. Casualties had been few, more Telmarines having been killed, but it did little to comfort High King Peter as he looked upon the shelters and the inhabitants of his country; he had lost people, as he had long ago during most battles, and their departed lives weighed heavily on his consciousness.

Peter, still clad in chain mail and the royal red of Narnia, the Lion in gold over his chest, stood at the entrance to a large tent, his back to the How, only slightly aware of his comrades' voices a few yards away. His eyes scanned over tents, searching for any sign of Lucy as she distributed her healing cordial, the red dwarf Trumpkin at her side, but he didn't see her. He had a relative knowledge of where Susan was, having earlier told her to move toward the outer edges of the camp and help with bandaging the hurt. He wasn't sure where Edmund was at the moment, his little brother having disappeared several minutes earlier.

Although he knew all three of his siblings were safe, he couldn't help but feel that anxious, almost frantic urge to have them all within his sight and within reach, the same affect battle had had on him for as long as he could remember. Although he was physically only one year older than when he had first entered into Narnia, he had fifteen years of combat experience, and that wasn't even including the last few days. This yearning always came, the want to just hold them, to assure himself they were whole, and Peter wouldn't be able to truly relax until he had seen all three safe. While Lucy had never participated in an actual battle, she was the one who administered the cordial; Susan often made an appearance with her deadly aim as an archer; Edmund was always in battle, whether out of his line of vision or guarding his back, and the impulsiveness was worse when it came to his brother due to Edmund _always _fighting alongside him.

While inwardly trying not to writhe from worry, Peter had managed to keep his outer expression calm for most of the afternoon, but with no one directly looking upon him at the moment, he allowed the mask to slip away until he was searching the field with anxious eyes in a manner that wasn't as subtle as he'd hoped it would be to anyone who saw him, fingers tapping absently against the hilt of his sword.

Behind him, Glenstorm's deep voice penetrated his consciousness. "It would be wise to move out at sunlight," the centaur said.

"Yes." Caspian's lilting voice followed, and Peter looked at the soon-to-be king where he stood at Glenstorm's right, able to see the young Telmarine's gaze as he looked upon the Narnians before him, dark eyes heavy but holding a light they had previously missed. "The wounded will have had time to rest and regain some of their strength. But," he said, looking up at the centaur, "first we uncover the lost and give them a proper burial. The others have been lain to rest; these deserve it as well."

Impressed and only the smallest bit resentful, Peter felt proud of Caspian. Although the concept of being king was still so new to him, the young man was falling into the position perfectly, more concerned about honoring the dead than making it back to the Telmarine castle to prepare for the coronation. Peter found it hard to believe that only this very morning he had readily pulled his blade to fight the prince, set for battle, craving it; and now, he admitted, he actually liked him.

Thinking about his rivalry with Caspian gave him a nauseated feeling as he remembered the way his voice had risen as he had played the blame game, the bitterness with which he had insulted and scorned the boy, the sheer speed wherein he had drawn his sword and raised it to Caspian, ready to battle him and hoping to bring blood. He knew, without a doubt, that they would have fought had it not been for his sensible little brother, Edmund's voice a commanding cry as he had yelled, "Stop it!"

Peter sighed mentally, disgusted with himself, once against having lost his cool at that moment and failing to be the king that he was. And, just like always, it had been Edmund to save his skin before things got too far out of hand. Once again, he found his eyes searching for a glimpse of dark hair, a mail suit similar to his own, and found no sight of his brother.

A deep rumbling filled his ears and thawed his worries as Aslan gave a great lion laugh, an appraising sound, where he stood a few feet from Caspian. "Well said," he began, gold eyes glimmering as he looked at the Telmarine prince—the Narnian king. "But there is nothing we can do for now. You should go find rest."

For a moment, Peter thought Caspian would argue with him. His mouth was open and he seemed like he wanted to say something, but then, looking directly into Aslan's eyes, he pulled his lips into a soft line and nodded, lowering his upper body into a bow. "Yes, your majesty."

Aslan laughed once again, moving closer so that his head was just in front of Caspian's face. "Obedience does not come naturally to you, does it, young one?" the Great Cat asked. Peter watched Aslan gently push his large muzzle against the boy's shoulder. "There is no need for that title. You may call me by what you like, but you do not have to be quite so formal."

Caspian gave him an appreciative grin in answer, and Aslan nodded. He pulled back and looked to Glenstorm. "Now," he stated, "I believe you have your own worries to attend to, my friend. Your youngest son was injured, was he not?"

"Yes, sire," the centaur replied solemnly.

"Then go to him."

And with that, Glenstorm was dismissed.

Waiting until Glenstorm was completely out of sight, Aslan turned once more to the young king. "Caspian, it would do you well to have your own injuries treated."

Caspian shook his head, raising his hand. "Oh, no, I'm fine. I was barely even hurt. Not like these people."

"Don't worry."

Both Caspian and Aslan turned as Peter spoke for the first time in the last several minutes, and he walked toward the two and stood beside Caspian, watching as the boy turned to face him uncertainly. "You need to heal up as well."

"And you?"

Peter felt a tired smile pull at his lips. "I've had worse." At that moment, looking over Caspian's shoulder, he caught sight of Susan exiting a tent to their left, bandages carried in her arms, and he smiled. "Look," he said, taking Caspian by the shoulder and turning him just in time to see Susan enter another tent, "go to her. She'll help get that gash cleaned up."

He watched Caspian look at the nasty cut on the inside of his arm, a knife having found a way to slice through the mail, and he saw something flash over the other boy's face: nervousness, and longing. Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes and laughed instead, highly aware of the feelings Caspian harbored for his sister, and he pushed him toward the tent.

"W-wait, I don't thi—"

"Just go," Peter said, smiling slightly. "She won't bite."

"That's not exactly what I meant," Caspian said softly, looking between Peter and his own feet.

Oh. So he wanted to know if Peter minded. This time, he couldn't help but roll his eyes, even as he grinned. "If I had a problem with it, you actually think I'd let you anywhere near her?"

Caspian smiled timidly, trying not to show just how relieved he really was. "No, I guess not."

"Just don't think that means I give you permission to try anything," Peter warned, only half joking now. "Besides, if I know Susan, she'd have an arrow in your chest before you got very far."

Eyes widening slightly at his words, Caspian nodded and turned away, walking toward the tent. And Peter found himself trusting him completely, which was beginning to feel more natural than he'd ever figured it would.

Aslan, who had been silent during their conversation, was now at Peter's side, eyes turned him, questioning. "What is your judgment, Son of Adam?"

Peter, tilting his neck to watch Caspian enter the tent his eldest sister was in, knew he was not referring to their light exchange; Aslan meant how he thought Caspian would do as ruler of Narnia. As High King, his decision was important, but Aslan's was even greater, and Peter knew the Great Cat would not take his answer into consideration; instead, he was simply curious.

"He'll be fine," Peter stated surely, turning to look at Aslan. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have chosen him."

Aslan blinked slowly, mouth seeming to pull into a smile. "I'm glad to see your faith in me has returned," he said, his tone soft and holding, oddly enough, a hurt emotion, something that was uncommon for him to reveal.

Peter's chest tightened with guilt, and he looked away from this holy being, self revulsion trying to worm its way to the surface and spill from his lips as bare emotion, knowing good and well that his actions from the last year had dishonored Aslan. And, worst of all, he had doubted him; he hadn't trusted in his choices, deciding it was his own job to be the hero, when there was no other true hero but Aslan.

"I'm sorry, Aslan," he uttered quietly, looking away in disgrace, knowing he wasn't worthy to even be in the presence of Narnia's True King.

"Do not be so hard on yourself, Dear One," Aslan said gently, and a thrill traveled up Peter's frame; he had never called him that. Lucy, yes, and even Edmund, but never Peter. Not until now. "You came back to me, and that was all I sought."

Peter turned agonized blue eyes to the Lion. "How can you forgive so easily?"

Aslan butted his head against Peter's stomach, his purrs vibrating through the Magnificent's frame. "Because I love you, no matter what you do. And I will not abandon you, even if you believe I have. I am always with you."

Peter's eyes widened at Aslan's tender words of love and compassion, and it made him want to bury his face in the Cat's fur and cry. Somehow restraining himself, he instead reached out and gripped his golden coat in both hands, resting his head on Aslan's and hiding his face the his mane. His smell was the same as it had been a year ago, or sixteen, or thirteen hundred: wild earth and fresh spice, and such a comfort to Peter that he sighed. "Thank you," he admitted thickly.

Aslan nuzzled against him. "Of course." As Peter pulled back and they once again faced the camp, he felt the Great Lion eying him in a knowing way. "However, I believe there is one you seek forgiveness from almost as much as you did from me, maybe even more so."

Peter tensed, but didn't looked at him. "You mean Edmund."

Aslan sighed and sat down, and Peter felt his long tail brush against the back of his leg. "You will not lose him. He's your brother. He loves you too much to throw you away."

"He should," Peter replied with a weak smile, voice strained.

"Peter," Aslan said gently, "there is a reason I gave your brother the name Just; Edmund is fair, and he does not pick favorites. But, if I may," he added, "I do believe you hold a special part of his heart."

He couldn't help it; he smiled, looking over at the Lion.

Aslan gave a understanding chuckle as he met Peter's eyes. "Edmund is fair," he repeated. "He will listen to whatever you have to say."

"I don't even know _what _to say." he admitted shakily. "How is 'sorry' going to cover all that I've done to him?"

"If I recall, just a moment ago, you said 'sorry' to me," Aslan stated calmly.

Peter looked at him in despair. He tried to imagine what he would say to his brother; how did you apologize for a year of pain? Edmund had been so good at taking what was dished out, it wasn't until that morning that Peter had really come to understand just how much his distance and anger had hurt the younger boy; when Edmund had stabbed through Jadis' ice wall and it had crumbled into broken slabs, he had looked at Peter with dark, remote eyes, voice wounded and cold.

"I know. You had it sorted."

Peter bit back an ironic laugh at his brother's words; he most certainly did _not _have it sorted, not in the least.

"Peter," Aslan said, voice commanding. Peter could hear the silent order for him to look at the Cat.

And he did, because there was no way he could deny his True King.

The Great Lion cocked his head to the side, softening. "Don't be afraid. Everything will see itself through. I have faith in you, and Edmund."

Still unsure, Peter gave a hesitant nod, then found himself half smiling. "It seems you're always saving me. Today, the battle with the Witch." He lifted a hand and placed it upon the Cat's spine. "I've never thanked you."

Aslan leaned into the touch, reminding Peter for just one second of his Aunt Alberta's housecat. But then the breeze blew the wild smell against his face, and he remembered that he was touching a untamed lion, a good one. "There's no need. I already know," Aslan said lovingly, and Peter allowed his hand to stay on his back for just a moment longer before pulling it away.

Watching a slightly limping satyr cross his line of vision, Peter caught a flash of brown hair, the movement of a red dress skirt illuminated by firelight, and Lucy was walking from one tent to another, the D.L.F. right behind her. Immediately relaxed, he felt the knot in his chest loosen; at least he knew where his sisters were.

"If you need time to think," Aslan began, pulling Peter's thoughts back to their discussion, "I would recommend you do so now. After this, you won't have any free time for a while, I'm afraid."

That sounded lovely. The idea of finding a quiet place to just collect his thoughts, to try and figure out how he would even start a conversation with Edmund so that he ultimately apologized for the last year in England. Something clenched in his gut as he imagined his brother condemning him, pushing him away for good this time, and he admitted that he was afraid, even more scared than he'd been dueling Miraz and knowing his life was on the line; because this was Edmund, and there was no way he could lose him, not his other half, his best friend, part of his soul, his just, sarcastic, incredible little brother. Still, even as his nervous fear began to intensify and he kept his mask in place, he knew Aslan was right: he really did need to be by himself and consider things.

"That would be great," he said honestly after a few moment's hesitation. "Do you know a place?"

Aslan looked at him, and then he turned his great head and gazed over his shoulder, past the tent, until he was staring at the How.

As Peter followed his gaze, his eyebrows furrowed. "But the entrance's blocked." Earlier, a giant had been a great help in clearing away some of the broken stone slabs, but as the sun had begun to sink, darkness creeping up on them, Peter had told the helpful giant to rest, that there would be plenty of time to finish the next morning. He was just as anxious to recover the lost Narnians who had been buried by rock as Caspian was, but there was little they could do without light, and so the opening was still greatly sealed up.

Aslan seemed unfazed. "Have you forgotten the tunnels your new friend created?" he asked, something that was not quite a grin but more than a smile in his voice.

Actually, Peter _had _forgotten the idea they had come up with, Caspian leading the underground forces to smash the pillars of rock, causing the above ground to cave in and bringing with it a good number of Telmarine soldiers and horses. The bodies of the lost Narnians and Telmarines had been recovered earlier that afternoon, and, realizing no one would be down there now, he gave Aslan a grateful smile.

Another lion chuckle, and Aslan was on his feet, taking a moment to bump into Peter before moving in the direction Glenstorm had earlier headed in.

He watched the Lion until he was out of sight, and then Peter turned to face the How, just able to make out its rocky summit in the quickly coming dark. His eyes moved down to the entrance. Taking a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for whichever way his thoughts might lead him, Peter moved back to the tent, lifted a torch from its stand, and began his trek toward the collapsed land that led deep inside Aslan's How.

"_I know. You had it sorted." _

* * *

><p>The tunnels were primarily dark, only two torches lighting the opening into the chasm, but the added glow of Peter's flame kept him from stumbling over too much debris and cracked rock. There was a coolness to the underground that the above land lacked, the surrounding stone absorbing any cold and retaining it, the air musty and still. Voices soon began to fade out the farther he walked, until all he could hear was the sound of his echoing footsteps, and soon his surroundings changed, less shattered columns haphazardly covering the ground.<p>

While he walked, Peter felt himself in a fog almost, memories of the last few days running together throughout his head: returning to Narnia, his heart light and happy for the first time in a year; the horror and loss he had felt for the destroyed Cair Paravel, his castle, his home; meeting Caspian, the immediate uncertainty he'd experienced, which had quickly ripened into jealousy; the failed night raid on Miraz's castle, the anger and humiliation that had burned at his chest and blinded his vision; Jadis in her ice prison, hand outstretched, tempting him, the knowledge that he had been about to unleash her severe; the duel, the sheer amount of fear he had felt for one moment, truly terrified that he would be killed by Miraz, almost unfamiliar with the notion of possibly dying in combat; battling the Telmarines, fighting to save Narnia; Aslan, great Aslan, who had been waiting all along and had saved them once again, the love he felt for the Cat and the shame for himself trying to devour him.

He had lost faith in Aslan, Aslan, he who was all things good and righteous. And because of his lost faith, he had lost himself.

A cursed thought slithered once again into his mind, one he had been trying his best not to think about today: What if by losing himself, he had also lost Edmund in the process?

He chased away the idea, too proud to admit it scared him more than was healthy, and he continued moving.

After walking for several good minutes, Peter was able to see light ahead of him. Coming through a small archway, he found himself now in the room where Caspian had just hours ago led the troops to fracture the support beams, little besides small rocks littering the floor and only four of the torches extinguished. Taking just a moment to make sure no body had accidentally wound up in here, Peter checked the room, but didn't remain. He took a deep breath, one that did little to calm the adrenaline coursing through his body that resulted from nerves rather than oncoming battle, as he took the passage upward that led to where he knew he would find the most comfort, the most clarity.

He walked up a narrow passage, already able to see that the glow ahead was brighter than the one to his back. His free hand trailing over wall paintings of mystical creatures, he walked until he came through an opening; not the larger one, but a side channel, and he gazed around reverently.

Torch in hand, Peter now stood in the inner sanctuary of Aslan's How, where the cracked Stone Table resided.

The Table sat in the very center of the room, broken, but still holding a sense of awesome power. From where he stood several feet away, Peter was clearly able to see the deep crack that traveled through its center and down, made visible by the ring of fire surrounding the it, the faint outline of Deep Magic runes traveling its sides. The Table held a sacred power, one that Peter could sense, reminding him of the sensation Aslan gave off; old, but without true age, and filled with magic. The light illuminated the pillars of the room, casting dark, elongated shadows along the walls.

Peter had never seen the Stone Table as it had once been; solid, unbroken. After the first Battle of Beruna, before beginning the trek to Cair Paravel, he had traveled with Aslan and his siblings and a small group of Narnias, and they had watched the Great Lion revive all of the creatures the White Witch had turned to stone, him blowing a soft, warm breath on their faces that had overcome the winter chill deep inside their bodies. Early along the way, they had come to pass the Table, and Peter had been amazed; this was where Aslan had died for his little brother.

He could remember looking over at Edmund, the image slightly blurred by sixteen years worth of time; even though, in some ways, it hadn't really been that long ago. He had turned to gaze at is brother, nervous and worried as to what his reaction might be. At first, Edmund had looked terribly small, younger than ten, eyes wide like a deer, and Peter could faintly remember seeing his brother's lip tremble. But then, instead of breaking apart as Peter was afraid he would, Edmund had surprised him, like always. He'd met the older boy's gaze with steady, pain filled eyes, but had given him a small smile, a slight nod.

Peter had never felt such pride swell up in his chest then at that moment, the sight of his brother, still weak and scarred by sin, willing and ready to face his fears, showing more courage than Peter himself could have ever mustered.

Now, as he looked at the Table, the sacrificial place where the Lion had voluntarily traded his life for the traitor, he still felt that wonder flowing throughout his being, just as he had so long ago. The ancient aura of this room made him realize, once again, just how small he truly was, just a tiny piece with a role to play in the great puzzle. Peter moved forward to a pillar and placed his torch in a free sconce, then walked so that he was standing just a few mere inches from the Stone Table, and, slowly, he lifted his hand and let his fingers rest against the cool stone, tracing over the etchings. Careful of the cracked steps that were on either side, he circled the Table, eyes on his hand as it never left the grainy surface. Until, almost without being aware of it, he found himself walking away from the Stone Table, fingers trailing behind until they, too, slipped away, and he stood with his back to the structure, the great image of Aslan, engraved on rock, now directly in front of him.

Although this was nothing compared to the real Aslan, one of flesh and blood, a mass of powerful muscles with a commanding orotund voice and a vicious roar and a deep, velvet laugh, the stone representation still possessed a regal air, and Peter felt his knees bend just the slightest bit like when he was preparing to kneel; a habit that was imprinted into his soul, bowing before Aslan and him alone. It felt like the Lion was gazing upon him; maybe Aslan really could see him, even while he was in here and the Cat was outside. Peter honestly didn't know.

Looking up at Aslan's image, Peter felt the wear of the day, physical and emotional, catch up with him, and he dropped all pretense of keeping himself looking like the king he was; his shoulders slumped and he felt a lethargy settle deep within his limbs, pain in his left shoulder and along his forehead from the duel, not to mention the countless bruises he'd received. He was, after all, only a kid, even if he hadn't been once upon a lifetime ago.

"_We _are _kids."_

At the sound of Edmund's voice, his words, not coming from behind but from within his mind, made Peter's chest ache. Because, although he had known Edmund was right at that moment, some part of him had loathed his little brother for reminding him of that dreadful fact, and it hit him now with the force of a wrecking ball, trying to catch him off balance and rip the breath from his lungs, the very life from inside his body. He sighed, shaky, and closed his eyes as he calmed himself. That was behind him now, he knew that. He knew now just how monstrous he had been to his siblings, especially toward Edmund, the past twelve months. He _knew _that. But understanding his mistakes made them ten times as painful because he understood just how badly he had hurt everyone. He had indulged himself in senseless brawls among children, _children_, that knew not the horrors of war and loss and sacrifice, simply because it made him feel good to unleash some of his own pain onto them. And when he had lost, the defeat had burned, acidic bile in the back of his throat and deep in his belly, just like after the failed raid; these losses had made him fume and livid with anger, knowing just who to take it out on.

No, he had never physically hurt Edmund, never even thought about it. But wounding his feelings, his pride…_that _was what Peter had reveled in, watching his brother try to stay composed and keep his temper in check. Most of the time, Edmund had simply stood and taken whatever verbal abuse Peter had thrown at him, face expressionless and eyes unreadable. And, later, when Peter would calm down enough to feel faint guilt crawling up his throat, he realized it scared him because Edmund hardly ever tried to intentionally hide emotion from him. Often enough before, when his eyes would be deep and veiled, Peter would put a hand on his shoulder or say his name, and Edmund's eyes were turned to melted chocolate, overflowing with sentiment. Peter knew he was no where near as achieved as Edmund when it came to reading emotion, but he could usually tell when his brother profoundly felt something. However, in those moments, Edmund's eyes would be like smooth, cold rocks, devoid of sparkle and without swirling amber.

Peter had come to a point where he couldn't understand his brother any longer.

This ache was even worse than his own self abhorrence, slashing and stabbing like a double edge knife across his heart and lungs, burning as his breathing choked in his throat. Brow furrowing and teeth grazing over his lip, he lifted aggrieved eyes to Aslan's mural. And then the room seemed to tilt for just a moment, a jarring throb traveling up his back and thighs, and he found himself on his knees, hands limp where they hung at his sides, sword in its sheath clattering against stone.

"Please," he whispered, voice still managing to catch as he looked up imploringly to Aslan. "Please, tell me what to do."

"_Don't be afraid."_

How could he not be?

"_Everything will see itself through." _

Was that even possible anymore?

"_I have faith in you."_

Why?

"_You will not lose him. He loves you too much to throw you away."_

Edmund.

As Aslan's earlier words echoed through his soul, Peter sighed and bowed his head as lids lowered over pale eyes, drained and afraid. He trusted Aslan. He just wasn't sure he trusted himself anymore.

Aslan said he wouldn't lose Edmund. He had to believe that, even as doubt tried to swallow him.

Lifting his head, he looked tiredly at the Lion's depiction, taking a deep breath. Wincing at his sore knees, he shifted himself so that he was able to slide his back against the Table, and he placed his hands on the ground to either side of him, tilting his head to the right as he gently rested it back so that it touched the stone. He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift and relax for just a few moments before he attempted to gather his thoughts once more, tried to figure out a way to even begin to ask Edmund for forgiveness, the firelight gleaming behind his eyelids.

At the moment, he found himself missing, of all things, the warmth of his mother. He hadn't seen her in so long, whether you counted his years in Narnia or not, and it made him feel like a little child, this wanting he felt. He missed being little, curled in her lap and, in later years, sitting at her right, Susan on her left, both Edmund and Lucy piled on top of her lap as she told them a story. He missed her scent, the sweetness of fresh perfume, floral, the way her hair had felt brushing against his cheek when she would hug him. And then thinking of his mother made him think of his father, still far away from home and God knows where, still fighting, and he ached for him, the smell of the man's cologne, the encouraging weight of a large hand gripping his shoulder, the flash of a grin.

Long ago, long ago in Narnian time, Edmund had asked him if missing their parents would ever get any easier. Eyes closed, the place in his heart where his mother's love and his father's warmth resided feeling hollow, Peter realized that it never did.

He thought of Susan for a moment, cool, collected Susan, who hardly ever let anything ruffle her or ever showed she was upset. When it came to emotions, she was the best at hiding them from her other siblings; Lucy usually remained oblivious, Edmund sometimes noticing when something was bothering her. Even Peter had difficulty unmasking her. She was the most reasonable, the most logical, as she liked to put it, thinking with her head instead of her heart, something the other three could not seem to master.

Moving from Susan, Lucy's face appeared before him, all large smiles and rosy cheeks. She was the worst at hiding when she was bothered, not yet able to master the art, and went willingly to each of her siblings for advice and comfort; before they had first gone into Narnia, Peter was the only one she would come to her, and he missed those days, holding her tight and fighting away the monsters and bad dreams, tucking her in. She had a brave heart for someone still so young and was, Peter knew, the one out of all four of them to have the most faith in Aslan.

Edmund was…just exactly that. Edmund. Both girls had an uncanny ability to spot when something was on his mind, but never quite knew what to say, although Lucy was more talented in this area than the elder girl. He didn't like the idea of having to go to someone for consolation, but when even his stubbornness gave way and he admitted defeat, it was always to Peter he went, where he often fell asleep at his brother's side; this had lasted long up until he was almost sixteen during the Golden Age. He was thoughtless of himself during a battle when he saw Peter in need, something the elder was painfully aware of.

Peter sighed through his nose. How was he going to do this?

"Pete?"

His eyes jerked open and he lifted himself from his resting place, back erect, as he looked in the direction he had entered the How and saw Edmund, still clad head to toe in mail, blinking curiously at him. Finally seeing Edmund made something lighten for a fraction of a second in his chest, but a deeper weight settled there at what was soon to come, and he knew he wasn't ready, would never be.

Edmund looked, as far as Peter could tell, unscratched, except for a small cut across the back of his left hand, not deep enough to cause too much worry; he also knew the armor was most likely hiding a number or large bruises. His hair was dried with sweat and possibly a little blood, and his shoulders drooped slightly with fatigue, but even with exhaustion on his body, his voice sounded steady.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, more out of custom than anything else.

Edmund gave him an amused expression, smiling enough so that Peter could just see his teeth, an unusual sight. "Nothing, thankfully." He walked toward him, weaving around pillars and the circle of fire, until he was standing beside Peter. "I was…well, I was just looking for you, is all."

Peter raised an eyebrow, surprised in a way, even as understanding began to dawn, and he said, almost without thinking about it, "So, if something's not wrong, why were you looking for me?"

Just as he had hoped, Edmund frowned at him, light color staining his cheeks and causing his freckles to stand out more. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "Is it so bad that I wanted to see you?" he asked, voice lightly annoyed.

Gosh, Peter had missed this, being able to mess around with Edmund. He smiled softly, no longer trying to goad his brother. He knew just how he felt. "No. I'm glad, actually."

Edmund looked down at him, slightly unsure at first. But when Peter was sure he was able to see the true emotions radiating from his eyes, Edmund's mouth lifted into a casual grin, and he proceeded to plop himself down at his left, movements slower because of the chain mail, his own sword sliding over the floor. When he sat with his back to the table, eyes on Aslan and elbows resting on his knees, Peter glanced at him.

His face was pale, paler even than usual, lack of sleep and tiredness taking its toil on his body. His eyes, however, were still shining and animated, and Peter understood that glow completely; he felt the same way after every battle, his limbs worn but limber, blood pumping and heart still beating a little too quickly, even though the battle had ended hours ago.

It was hard to imagine at times like this the little boy Edmund had been going into Narnia and the twenty-five-year-old king he had been leaving. There were the beginnings of that tall royal in Edmund now, although buried beneath a childhood exterior; his face was slimmer but still soft, eyes large, limbs shorter and not as strong as they had once been. But his soul was the same, loyal and just and good, rambunctious and full of energy.

At the word loyal, someone might have asked how, after everything Edmund had done, Peter could call him this. The subjects of a long ago Narnia—their Narnia—would not have speculated about this, as they had come to know the Just King and the bond he shared with his siblings, especially with his brother. But to some one now, if they were to learn of the past, it would be hard for them to accept Peter's faith in him. The answer, however, was simple, one Peter could state without faltering: Edmund had changed, and Peter trusted him with everything, including his very life.

"Hey, you okay?" the younger boy asked.

Up until that moment, Peter had been so lost to his thoughts that he hadn't even realized Edmund had turned back to face him. He jerked his head slightly, startled, blinking as he stared back at his brother, who now looked at him with one eyebrow raised, eyes traced with concern. A smile tugged at Peter's lips, a laugh wanting to bubble up from his throat; Edmund rarely showed when he was worried, and he found seeing his little brother like this encouraging. Still, he contained the affectionate laughter, knowing if he let the emotion slip onto his face that Edmund would most likely shut himself off.

Instead, he nodded and gave Edmund a small smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Edmund narrowed his eyes, and Peter immediately recognized that he was searching his expression, his eyes, for any sign of deceit, trying to decode if something really was wrong. And Peter felt himself grow nervous, highly conscious of the fact that Edmund could read the slightest hint of feeling on his face and distinguish it. His smile winded, an action that hurt more than he thought it would as he practically had to force his mouth to pull upward, and he attempted to keep anything from leaking into his eyes.

The younger king's mouth pulled into a tight line, lips slightly pursed, as he gave Peter a pained look. "Nice try."

Slowly, bit by bit, Peter's false smile slipped away, and then he was staring at Edmund tiredly, anxious and with steady growing dread, realizing just how stupid he had been for trying to hide anything from his brother; Edmund knew his soul better than he did, and there was almost nothing that he didn't see within Peter's eyes. Despite trying to keep them blank, he knew the orbs had seeped feelings of hurt and worry and love, and he knew Edmund had seen everything nakedly. He sighed.

Maybe it was Edmund that was the perceptive one.

"Now tell me," his brother said firmly. "What's up?"

Shoulders ducked, Peter turned away from Edmund and looked back up at the stone Aslan, silently begging for help. But he knew there would be none; Aslan had faith in him, which meant he could find a way to apologize to Edmund. If it came down to it, Peter knew he wouldn't even hesitate to fall before his brother and beg for forgiveness. Still, he felt his chest squeeze and his stomach rise dangerously in his throat, making swallowing difficult, and he knew he was terrified. What if Edmund wasn't able to forgive him?

God, how was he going to _do _this?

He bent his head forward, bringing up a knee and laying one arm over it, the other by his side, hand resting on his thigh. Without lifting his face, Peter turned his eyes back to Edmund, praying they were at least somewhat guarded as he looked up from under long lashes, and gave his brother a weak, lack luster smile. He knew this was probably going to be his only chance to talk with Edmund like this, but he found it very hard to get words to leave his mouth due to the way his little brother looked at him: narrowed eyes that still seemed somewhat big, blinking slowly, face grim and strangely hopeful at the same time. Peter breathed a deep sigh through his nose. "How is it, for you?"

Edmund's eyes grew a little larger, confused. "How's what?"

Peter moved his eyes from Edmund to something else, something inconsequential. He'd known he wasn't going to be able to just come out immediately and say he was sorry, but the question he'd uttered took him a bit by surprise. "Being back here," he said softly, looking back to his brother.

Apparently, his question had had the same affect on Edmund. He sat there, all wide brown eyes and parted lips and dark hair, looking so young at the moment as he pondered Peter's question that it pulled at something in the older boy's heart, something he hadn't felt in a long time: that physical tie to his brother, that desire to keep him from every terror, the one that drove him to do rash things when he saw Edmund in trouble. He felt a tremble travel his body.

The younger boy looked directly back at him, and Peter could almost feel the conflicting emotions radiating from his body: delight and sadness, stillness and worry, fatigue. And then there was something that Peter faintly recalled, a softness to his eyes, that made him think of something that was not quite sadness.

Edmund gave a small laugh, mainly to break the tension, as he often did. "It's strange," he said, looking at his hands as he laced his fingers together. "Especially since it's not our home. But it's still Narnia, and I love it." He looked up at Peter, giving a lopsided smile. "I guess I'm still a little stunned."

Peter understood exactly what he meant, the only difference being that he had a feeling this new Narnia affected him more than Edmund. It was dark, savage and without the enchantment he'd once known it to possess; like a shattered mirror slowly pulling its shards back together, recreating itself but missing the past beauty. It had been such a shock to see that bear charging Lucy, to not find any comprehension in its beady black eyes, to have to watch it fall, dying like the stupid beast it was. No, this wasn't his home, not in the sense it had once been; this was Caspian's Narnia, and he felt the faint sense that he did not belong here any longer.

Peter said none of this to Edmund, already knowing his brother understood long before he himself had even begun to. "Thirteen hundred years," he said instead, a mere murmur. "It's been that long here, and it's only been a year for us."

Edmund was quiet, tongue flicking out to lick his lips nervously, and Peter could tell he wanted to ask him a question, and so he waited, with more patience than he'd had with his brother in a long time. He knew Edmund was just as lost as he was, not quite sure of where he belonged; he had just as much on his mind as Peter, maybe more.

"Do…" he began, voice soft and holding a tinge on melancholy. "Do you wish we had never gone back?"

Peter knew that he wasn't referring to Narnia; he meant England, the day when they had accidentally walked out of the wardrobe. Peter could still remember the cool, autumn wind whipping at his face as he'd practically flown over the warm ground on his black steed, cape billowing behind him and hair flying wild around his face. He could see the white stag ahead of him, hear his siblings laughter behind and to his sides, especially Lucy's, although it was a distant memory, one that was worn and of another time. Once Edmund and Phillip had stopped for a breath and they had all come back to gather round him, Peter could remember seeing the lamppost, a great thing covered with ivy and containing a perfect, golden flame, and it had bothered him because he had been sure he had seen this before, not just in a dream, but many years before, in real life. And then Lucy had realized just what it was and had taken off, and he had followed her, still the protective big brother, soon finding himself winding through trees and branches, Edmund and Susan behind him and Lucy pulling excitedly at his arm. Until it hadn't been branches; coats had soon been brushing against his shoulders, and then Peter had been surrounded by the thick mass of fur, his siblings tripping and pushing, and when he had rebuked them, something had changed. _He _had changed. He had found his voice was higher and more childlike, his body shrinking, crown askew on his head. And he had heard his brother and sisters' voices grow younger, felt their small bodies brush his; and then Edmund had tripped into Susan, and she had crashed into him, and he had fallen against Lucy, and then they had been tumbling out through the wardrobe door and onto hard floor.

Peter could remember meeting each of his sibling's eyes, just as confused and disoriented as they, until it dawned on him that they were _back_.

The next year, adjusting to normal life once again and trying to remember how it was to be a kid, had been hard and nearly broke Peter's spirit. It had been filled with hurt and abandonment, anger, grief. But now, being back once again and able to maybe understand why Aslan had allowed their departure…he didn't regret leaving. Because, in the end, it had been for the best, he realized.

He gave Edmund a reassuring smile, actually meaning it this time. "No. Don't get me wrong, I would have loved nothing more than to stay in Narnia with you and the girls and continue living as we were, but maybe we were supposed to leave." At Edmund's skeptical look, Peter sighed softly. "What I mean is, maybe Aslan had this planned out from the start: the Telmarines, Caspian becoming king. We were just the beginning."

His brother looked at him, somewhat sad but also thoughtful, as his words set in. Peter watched Edmund close his eyes for a moment, then reopen them and glance downward, looking older somehow as he gave a nod. "Yeah. That would make sense."

Peter knew Edmund wasn't quite as certain, but he saw his trust in Aslan glowing through his brother's eyes, right alongside the faith Edmund held in Peter. And he felt a pang, although he wasn't sure if it was good or bad, knowing that after all he had done, his brother still could have confidence in him. He felt his fingers twist in his hair, pulling it gently. "Do you?" he asked, referring to Edmund's previous question, and he knew his brother could tell.

The Just King exhaled, leaning his head back as he looked upward. "I can't say I wish we hadn't gone back to England," he admitted quietly. "But, at the same time, I know we probably were meant to, like you said. The years we had here were wonderful, but they're gone. So," he said, looking back at Peter, giving him a smile, "maybe it was for the best that we went back, to grow up there."

Peter smiled back, although it felt more like a grimace; because, even after realizing it was what Aslan had had in mind, it didn't make it any easier. Had he not realized how hard it would be on them? Didn't he know how much Peter would long to have the solid weight of a blade in his hand, to walk along the beaches of Cair Paravel? He had craved the soft talks with Susan, the adventures he had partaken in with Lucy, sword practice with Edmund, working until he was so exhausted and happy that he couldn't move from where he would fall on the ground. Lazing around on warm summer afternoons, partaking in a snowball fight, swimming through crystal waters. He would have done almost anything to go back to the way life had been.

And, he knew, so had Edmund.

The day they returned to England, when both Susan and Lucy were in their room and Peter had walked back to the one he had shared with his brother at Professor Kirk's home, he had opened the door to find Edmund quietly crying into his pillow, hands twisted in the bed sheets, small, snuffling sobs catching in his chest. And Peter had felt himself break even more than he had thought possible at the sight of his baby brother crying for what was lost, his home stolen from him. Sighing shakily, Peter had walked to Edmund's bed and sat on the edge, hesitantly resting a hand on his brother's quaking back, then began to rub soothing circles along the tense muscles. When Edmund had looked up him, eyes veined and face smeared with tears, Peter had instinctively lifted him into a sitting position just in time for a shattered wail to break past Edmund's cracked lips, and his little brother had begun sobbing into his chest, hands grasping at his shirt as he cried.

That was the only time in the past year Edmund had showed any true loss, any actual pain, toward Peter. After crying himself out in Peter's arms until he had fallen asleep, he had acted as if nothing had occurred the next morning, as did Peter. And that, consequently, had been the only time Peter had showed any affection of given comfort to his brother.

And life had moved on. Susan had quickly readapted to her old, English life, though still showing signs of missing Narnia. Lucy had cried the most, more than Peter himself had, until she had gradually begun to recover and return to her happier self. Edmund had become quieter, more brooding, lost in thought more often, his smiles a little less frequent. And Peter's own healing had never really come. He had cried every night for the first week, praying he'd awake from this dream and find himself back in Narnia. When he'd finally accepted the fact that they wouldn't be going back, at least for a long while, he had grown more sullen, bitter, his anger at Aslan and himself and the world growing, until it tried to consume him.

Aslan was brilliant; he had known just when to bring them back, all for different reasons, and Peter knew that if he hadn't returned to Narnia when he did, he probably would have fallen into a pit that was too deep to pull himself out of.

"Hey, Ed?" he asked, somewhat quiet now, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Lucy told me something earlier. Before the duel, before Aslan showed up, she said that we needed to prove ourselves to him." He looked at Edmund. "Do you think we did?"

Edmund's expression changed, seemed to age with wisdom and his lost adulthood, eyes going light and dark at the same time. He took a deep breath, then looked back steadily at Peter. "Aslan would have come, no matter what," he began surely. "But he wasn't going to until the moment when we admitted we really needed him."

It was amazing, just how easily Edmund was able to sum things up that ran circles in Peter's mind, sometimes in a single sentence, and he slowly smiled. He was right; Aslan would always come, despite what Peter had once thought, and he found himself trusting the Lion more than ever. He had saved his life and his soul, and had saved Edmund, an act that Peter was thankful for even more than his own salvation.

His smile slipped away then, and he found himself staring intently at Edmund as the younger boy looked back to the Cat's image. Peter knew Aslan had saved his soul, pulling him from his own despair by bringing him back into Narnia. But what about Edmund? Peter had hardly worried about his brother's pains save for the first month or two, and then he had been too absorbed by his own wants that he hadn't seen what he was doing to everyone around him, namely his little brother.

Edmund, unaware of Peter's dark thoughts, looked back at him and, seeing his focused gaze, smiled, as if to assure him he was alright.

And Peter knew he was, for the most part. But Peter himself was not, and he looked away from his brother, biting back the shuddering breaths that were working their way up his throat as he stared at the yellow-orange flames.

He sensed a shift in Edmund, a tilt to his body, leaning up, and he could see his brother's outline from the corner of his eye, closer now, head slanted toward him. He knew without even seeing his face that Edmund was looking at him.

"Peter?"

He swallowed bitter saliva, desperately wishing his brother's soft voice wouldn't make him feel so monstrous, even though he knew he was a beast. He had been ghastly, callous. He didn't deserve to be forgiven. And yet, it was all Peter wanted, to just know Edmund didn't hate him. Inhaling deeply, feeling the bravest and most terrified he had been in a long time, he turned back to look at his brother through a fringe on blonde bangs.

The sight of the younger king nearly made him hide his face. Edmund was looking at him gently, not quite yet worried but definitely concerned by Peter's behavior, open eyed and soft faced; he raised his eyebrows in a quick motion, smiled for a second, and waited, having given Peter an expecting look. Completely trusting.

"Hey, Ed?" Peter said softly, unable to keep his eyes on his brother; they were already burning enough.

"What?" Edmund asked, tone bordering more on nervousness now, though still holding a lighter tone, somewhat forced. When Peter took a quick glance back at him, he was leaning even closer to him so that he could hear his voice better.

Peter looked at the back of his hands, the skin bare and dark in the glow of the firelight. "I'm sorry."

A nervous chuckle was what he got from Edmund, and when he looked with dreary eyes at his brother, the younger boy had a half smile on his face that was highly uncomfortable, obviously not familiar with seeing the elder this way; at least, not for a while. "Come on, Pete," he said, clearly not at ease, his body tense. "Why are you apologizing?"

Peter's eyes glared, but he felt no malice toward his brother; it was an inward hatred, one that tried to consume all the spots of light in his life and drown him in shadowy desolation. "Because I should be," he said, voice raw and to the point of breaking, surprising himself. Was it supposed to sound that husky?

Edmund frowned, leaning forward so that the front of his mail clad shoulder touched the back of Peter's and, though he couldn't actually feel his brother's skin, it made him cringe, knowing Edmund was too good to even be doing this. The younger brother felt the action, and his expression hardened slightly, but more with shock and fear than anything else, pupils shrinking. "Good grief, did you hit your head earlier?" he asked, voice rising faintly. "You're not making any sense."

Peter ignored his question, pulling his knees up, and instead chose to scowl, chest almost too tight to breath. His fear had risen along with Edmund's voice, as did his inner revulsion, and a rough, twisted laugh broke out of his body, startling himself just as much as it did Edmund, the younger pulling back just slightly. "On the contrary, I'm making perfect sense," Peter said, chin lifting from his knee as he looked at Edmund with furrowed brows and baby blues that looked black at the moment, jaw rigid and the faintest of trembles racking his frame. "You, however, have me baffled."

Edmund gawked. "Excuse me? I'm not the one who just apologized for no bloody reason."

Peter was beginning to lose restraint. He could sense his control slipping at Edmund's words, knowing just how untrue they were. And yet his brother believed them, honestly wasn't aware of what Peter was talking about. "No reason, huh? Alright then, I'll give you one: you," he said, voice rising with something between rage and misery.

The younger balked a little, the whites of his eyes more visible as chocolate orbs grew round. "Me?" he asked, shocked and puzzled, the faintest of hurt tones coloring his voice and tinting his eyes. "Peter, what's gotten into you? What did I do?"

That expression on Edmund's face, the way his voice sounded slightly higher than usual, his eyes, nearly did Peter in. It was physically painful, seeing his brother so anxious and upset, and it hurt even more because Peter knew he was the cause of this grief; of course, Edmund was already trying to figure out what he had done to hurt Peter, not the other way around. That was his brother; his snaky, selfless little brother. But, somehow, Peter's resolve held, if barely, voice just beginning to quaver, and he could no longer find the courage to face Edmund.

"Nothing. You did nothing, even when you should have."

A hand landed on his shoulder, gripping it firmly, and Peter found himself being turned to face the younger boy directly, Edmund's dark eyes fierce. "Would you please tell me what's wrong already?" he shouted sharply, shaking him once.

Something broke, then; maybe a fragile heartstring deep within Peter's chest that he had steadfastly protected all these months, a part of his spirit that had grown more embittered and afraid the longer he had tried to guard it. He had worked to keep himself from being hurt, whether it meant starting irresponsible, obtuse fights or inflicting as much pain as possible on someone else rather than feel it himself, Edmund taking on the brunt of his anger. But he knew that he hadn't been protecting himself, and he realized he had known this for a while; he had just been putting off the inevitable, the moment when he would have to face what he had thought was banishment from Narnia and, now, the way he had behaved toward his brother and the effects it had on himself.

"Everything!" he yelled, almost screamed, wanting so badly to jump to his feet and move but finding himself too tired to even attempt lifting himself up. Instead, he remained where he sat, knees drawn to his chest and a hand tangled harshly in his hair, relishing the pain pulling the strands gave him as he turned a fixed, acrimoniously miserable stare to his brother. "You, Narnia, Caspian, Aslan. Don't you get it? Everything's my fault! When we fell out of the wardrobe, it was like Narnia had ever happened. We had to pretend to be like we'd once been, like we weren't kings and queens, and I hated it. I hated every minute of it! I was a child again, but I didn't feel like it, not like I should have. Some part of me was left behind in Narnia, and I couldn't figure out how to get along without that part."

Edmund watched sympathetically, but his eyes still held a tinge of severity as he looked at the Magnificent King silently, and Peter felt something twitch in his stomach because Edmund _did _understand this, to some extent; going back into a child's life had been easier for him than Peter, but he knew Edmund had also had his own obstacles to get past. Still, it hadn't been as hard for Edmund, and they both knew it.

Taking a moment to inhale and finding himself dismayed at how shaky the breath was, Peter continued. "I wasn't whole, and I thought I could find something missing by fighting again; nothing like Narnia, but maybe if I could get into a fight, then I could possibly find myself again." He gave a sardonic laugh, smile distorted and filled with pain, cynical. "But I was just lying to myself. God, I even _knew _I was, but I wanted it to be true so badly because I wanted to be home. I was always mad, always hurting. And when we finally got back here, I thought that pain would go away, but it didn't. I still felt angry.

"Then we met Caspian, and I saw how everyone looked at him, like he was their king. And I saw that he wasn't, and it made me mad because _I _was here, _I _was still High King. And they listened to me, just as soon as they realized who I was." He shook his head, barking out another laugh. "But Caspian remained, and I saw him as a threat. I saw the potential in him: he was smart and good in battle, but didn't have experience, and, I don't know, I stopped seeing his strong points and saw only his faults. I knew he wasn't ready to lead these people; I even said that to him. And with the night raid, I lost it. I wanted someone else to blame, someone besides myself, and he was right there." Peter stared at his knees, too mortified to look at Edmund at his next admission. "I was jealous of him. I was what Narnia had once needed, and I knew that he was what it now required. I didn't belong in England, and I didn't belong here either, not in this new Narnia. But Caspian does, and that's how it should be." Peter snorted thickly. "You know, I'm actually proud of him. He really is good. He just lacks the confidence in himself everyone else has in him, but I think he'll get it eventually."

Faint laughter from Edmund, and he looked over to see his brother with a small smile on his face, one that did not reach his eyes, but was still true. He looked up at Peter, somewhat humored. "You do realize you also just described yourself, right?" he asked quietly.

In all honesty, Peter hadn't, and his eyes widened slightly. He didn't say anything.

"We all have faith in you, Peter," Edmund continued, still using that same tone of voice, only with more feeling, more surety to his words, unaware of the affect they were having on Peter. He felt clammy, like he couldn't breathe, almost filled with as much relief and gratitude as he was with anguish. Here Edmund was, saying he still had confidence in him, even after the last year, and hearing this made the back of his eyes sting and his breathing to come unsteadily.

"We always have. Caspian, Susan and Lucy, Aslan. Me." Edmund's eyes softened just the tiniest bit, and Peter saw it clearly, devastatingly. "You're just not very good at seeing your own assets."

"Ed," Peter mumbled, the word barely even audible.

"_You _are our High King," the younger boy said resolutely, expression serious now. "Not Caspian, not anyone else. You, Peter, and you alone."

"Stop it!"

It was louder than Peter had intended, more forceful, reminding him of a time when he hadn't been able to get along at all with Edmund; a time before Narnia had strengthened their bond and loyalty and shaped them into the kings they were. It also made him think of only a few weeks ago, him yelling at Edmund with even more vigor and a lot of irritation. Now, though, it was filled with aching despondency and a suffocated quality that sounded like tears, because it hurt Peter to hear his brother speaking so highly of him and with so much pride and conviction.

Edmund blink at him, clearly shocked and scared, eyes large and confused, the determination slipping from his face until he was left looking at him forlornly, and Peter felt his breath catch on something close to a sob. "But _why_?" Edmund asked unhappily, one hand pressed to the stone floor as he pushed himself forward. "Why shouldn't I when it's true?"

With a trembling pant, Peter's eyes closed, brows furrowing as he moved the hand from his hair and reached back to grasp his neck, the other shaking as he pulled it into a fist, fingernails biting the skin of his palm. He opened his mouth, trying to get the words past the lump that was in his throat, but he couldn't.

"Come on, Pete. Why?"

No, he couldn't get them out; even if they were true, it hurt too much to say them. Because, if he did, then it would be real, and he didn't want it to be. He scrunched his eyes closed tighter, shaking his head in refusal as he turned his face downward, incapable of speech.

"Peter." A hitching breath came from Edmund; not a sob, but definitely uneven, and Peter's eyes shot open as he looked up slowly to see his brother gazing at him with the biggest eyes he had ever seen, even bigger than Lucy's. And he knew immediately that he was lost, because it was Edmund's eyes, every time, that did him in, broke his every wall and resolution. Peter could only remember one exception when he had found the will to refuse his little brother, and that had been years ago in Narnian time, right before one of the smaller clashes with the Northern Giants. Edmund had nearly fought him because he would not allow him to join in battle because he was still recovering from an arrow wound; even knowing Lucy had given him a drop of cordial, Peter wouldn't permit him to fight. He could still remember his brother's eyes, burning and irate, hurt and somewhat desperate because he had needed to be at Peter's side in this battle, in every one. When Peter had somehow stood his ground as High King and had firmly told him no, Edmund's eyes had drained of every emotion except for a small, frightened one, filled with love and pain, and Peter had been shocked into silence when he had realized Edmund was showing him, actually allowing Peter to see, the way he felt. And, so quiet, so soft that only Peter could have possibly heard, even with Orius and all the other generals around, Edmund had gently asked, "Please?"

And, just like before, whether it was six years ago or one, whether he was eighteen or ten or eleven, as he was now, Edmund whispered, voice small and strangely fragile, "Please?"

It didn't matter how old Peter was; thirteen or twenty-one, Edmund had that effect on him, and he couldn't refuse his little brother, not this time. So, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, Peter said brokenly, "Because it's not true."

There it was, out in the open, and it hurt hearing himself say it more than Peter had expected. He felt sick, unstable, breakable, like the lightest of zephyrs could shatter him. And there was no one to blame but himself, because he had been the one to dishonor the title of High King, tarnish the name Magnificent, lose his faith in Aslan, and, ultimately, nearly forfeit his brother and everything he loved to the prospect of having the most powerful witch ever born at his side, all for the glory of winning. No, he didn't deserve their faith and love. He didn't deserve anything but their hatred.

Edmund's eyes never changed, letting Peter see raw emotion, and he shook his head slightly. "That's not true, you imbecile," he disagreed gently, still steadfast in his allegiance. "Yes, you've made mistakes. Everyone does. We both know I have my fair share." He said this last part almost as if to himself, but didn't stop. "That doesn't mean you don't deserve to be High King."

Peter frantically shook his head, suddenly realizing just how close to tears he really was. "Yes, it does," he argued, and he found himself unable to pull away from the hand that was once again on his shoulder, only this time gentle, trying to give some sort of comfort.

"Aslan gave you that title because he chose you, Peter. He had faith in you then, and he has faith in you now. He knows you'll do what's right, and so do I."

Peter sank against Edmund's hand, his body already so tired from the last few days that it didn't take much; it was like he could feel the warmth of his brother's palm through his armor, and he moved so that Edmund's fingers brushed over his neck, then the tips of his own fingers that rested there. But he wasn't finished telling Edmund everything, and he couldn't bask in this any longer, the knowledge that he might lose his brother in the moments to come heavy on his heart. He allowed himself to indulge in this comfort for just a minute more, and then he pulled away, turning so that he could look at Edmund better.

Hand still slightly raised, the Just King watched him with unwavering, gentle eyes, eyes that held wisdom beyond his years, filled with loss and strength and determination, a conflicting mass of discontent and utter love and still present fear, his gaze never wavering from Peter.

Those eyes. Did he have any idea what they _did _to him?

Peter glanced downward, sucking his bottom lip under his top for a second. "Stop looking at me like that," he mumbled weakly,

"Like what?" Edmund's voice rose, irritated, and Peter could see his brother pull closer to him from the top of his vision.

"Like…like nothing's changed."

Edmund growled, his equanimity beginning to splinter. "Nothing _has _changed, idiot. Yes, we're different than we were a few days ago, but not in a bad way. Lu and Susan would agree with me. So why are you the only one who doesn't see that?"

He turned his eyes upward to face Edmund, who, thankfully, was showing some form of anger, inner self hidden once again; Peter needed to have his brother reprimanding him, otherwise there was no way he would get this next part out, even though it throbbed more than he would have thought possible.

"You're right," he stated softly, trying to control the tremble in his voice. "We have changed, and maybe it is for the best. But that doesn't mean I can forget about the things I've done, and neither should you."

To his shock and frustration, Edmund looked at him blankly, clearly lost. He blinked quickly, one eyebrow lifting slightly, and Peter watched his brother contemplating.

Good grief, could he really not understand what he was talking about? A flare of annoyance sparked through him, but was quickly swallowed up by the deeper pain gnawing at his stomach and heart, and he sighed heavily, praying he wouldn't end up snapping at Edmund. "I said I was sorry earlier, but I didn't say why. Not really," he elaborated when Edmund was about to break in and tell him otherwise. "I told you I was angry to be back in England. Hurt, alienated. I felt out of place, an adult, a king, trapped in a kid's body. And I couldn't cope. I tried, but I always failed to find the acceptance I knew Susan possessed, or the faith Lucy had because she knew we'd be coming back, or your composure. You handled it better than I did, even though you'd lost just as much, maybe more. That's why I started fighting, when my tolerance cracked and I couldn't handle trying to act like my old self. But the anger wouldn't go away, no matter what I did; always burning, always present. I allowed it to take over because I thought it would make me feel better." Peter looked at Edmund, eyes and voice unusually soft and devoid of resentment when he said, "But you didn't, not for a second."

Edmund looked at Peter sadly, lips pressed into a thin line that reminded him of when he was younger—and older, even—and was on the verge of crying, trying to fight back tears. But his eyes were clear and intently watching, waiting, and Peter knew his brother would not interrupt until it was the opportune moment.

Although Peter's statement had held not a single trace of umbrage, the words had burned exiting his mouth because, at one point, he _had _resented Edmund. Edmund, the Just King, the one who had managed to keep his head and stay collected once they had returned to their old world. The one who had been able to, essentially, move on and live for the future, not still caught up in the past. And Peter had almost hated him for being able to do that, for finding the strength to overcome this challenge. That was, he admitted, the main reason he had targeted Edmund out as the one to receive the majority of his wrath, because he had wanted to break his little brother's spirit and see him in as much pain as he himself was in. He would never, even in his most aggressive of outbursts, inflict physical pain on his brother; he'd never even dreamed of raising a hand to him outside of hand-to-hand combat practice. But words were different, their wounds deeper, and they had flowed off of his tongue sometimes before he even had a chance to realize what he was saying.

Peter could remember long ago reading somewhere in the Bible that the tongue was full of deadly poison. He'd proven that to be true.

"You made me mad, because you could act like nothing had changed and still be faithful," he said, arms wrapping around his middle as he tried to stop the tremors from shaking his frame, yet still somehow forcing himself not to look away from Edmund even as the action made him want to cry, knowing his brother was so near. "You were able to get past the pain and grow stronger, and I was stuck behind. I couldn't move on."

"And you think I did?" Edmund asked, words trying to achieve a lightness that his voice didn't possess. "Peter, it was just as hard for me as it was you. The only reason it's taken you longer is because we're different people, and we manage with things at out own pace."

"But you don't get it!" Peter turned on him, eyes overly bright and voice catching. "Edmund, I was jealous of you. I felt powerless next to you, all because you were adjusting and able to smile and really _mean _it. I…" He nearly gagged, self detestation like fire, burning his heart and lungs and traveling up to his eyes. "I wanted to hate you," he stated, words more of a whimper than anything. "You made it look easy, going back to normal. But we aren't normal, and never will be, and I hated how you could remember everything and still act like nothing had ever happened around everyone else."

The statements were like being hit repeatedly in the chest, their pain was so intense, and Peter felt himself steadily slipping, eyes trying to mist over every second he spoke, shoulders trembling now. It was so hard to truly try to accept the fact that he had actually wanted to hate his brother, had actually tried; and yet, as much as he had wanted to hate him, something had kept that darkness from taking over his heart and turning him into a complete monster, and that was the profound, absolute way he loved Edmund, no matter his past sins or faults. Every time he had tried to let that black fire take over, he had always been jerked back to himself by the adoration he felt for his brother and the pure drive to protect him.

Peter was no longer looking at Edmund, too ashamed and unable to stand seeing his little brother watching him with those large, heart wrenching eyes, and glared down at his knees as he resisted the urge to curl in on himself and disappear. "But I never could," he said brokenly, hands shaking where they rested on either side of his torso, and he moved them so that he was gripping each of his arms, the mail hard under them. "I was never able to because I love you too much. Even when I was horrible to you, I couldn't hate you. I tried, believe me, I tried. That's one reason I was always yelling at you, trying to pick fights; partly to get rid of my own pain, partly to make you hurt. I was selfish, telling myself not to care, ignoring you every time you came in and rescued me." He sighed, a broken laugh. "Because you _do _always have my back, no matter what, and I'm more grateful for that than you'll ever know. And I'm s-sorry, for everything I've done and said to you, because I regret ever even thinking I would try to hate you. Even though I don't deserve to have you here, God, I'm glad you are. I need you, because you're my brother and part of m-my soul, and I love you, and I can't imagine having a life without you, even if you can't forgive me. Even if you h-hate me. I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, Ed."

Peter choked, sobbing on air as he buried his face in his hands, face hot with tears that were steadily trickling down his cheeks and had been for some time, silent in their assault apart from the way they had tinged his voice. And he was ashamed, because he wasn't supposed to cry; he was the eldest, the rock, and he was supposed to be strong when no one else could. Yet he couldn't stop the wetness from filling his eyes and crawling down his cheeks in warm tracks, soaking his hands and burning his chapped lips as they fell onto them. He felt horribly vulnerable and young at the moment, younger than he had in years, and he gasped on tears, trying not to sob.

Edmund said nothing. And that terrified Peter more than anything; fear no where near the raw panic he had felt at Beruna and the many battles since, this dread was just as scary. He still might lose his brother, and he could not imagine a life without Edmund, without his laugh and smirk and eyes that always melted Peter. Edmund _was _part of his soul; not from the beginning, but Peter had shed sweat with him and had had his hands slicked by his blood, had held him when his brother's sorrow tried to consume him, had felt the utter fright of not being able to find him on the battlefield. They had shared so much, and there was no way to undo any of it.

The weight of an arm draped easily over his shoulder—one that had long ago been hardened by muscle and now was small with adolescence and lack of training, yet still capable with a sword—came unexpectedly, even more so when he felt Edmund pull him against his side in a half hug. Still crying, for just a moment, Peter fought him; he didn't deserve comfort, least of all from Edmund. He shook his head fervently and pushed weakly against Edmund's chest as he tried to thrust himself away from his brother and the reassurance he was offering, trying to refuse the warmth of his blessedly alive body.

Edmund growled softly, right arm drawing him even closer, and then his hand went up to the back of the elder's head, shifting so that Peter was leaning against him. And Peter was unable to fight him, hands stilling where they rested and body racked with sobs, and when he felt his brother's body shift and Edmund's soft breath on his face, there was nothing else he could do but bring miserable blue eyes up and meet his brother's gentle, unnaturally tender gaze. Tears still spilling down his face, he restrained a wail as best he could, whining softly when Edmund's fingers brushed against his jaw, and the younger king smiled a warm, slightly wet smile. His thumb brushed over Peter's cheek, wiping a tear away. "Would you stop fighting already and let me hold you?" he asked thickly, one of his smaller hands framing his older brother's face.

Finally, after restraining it for so long, Peter was full-out sobbing, great, shuddering cries that stole his breath, and he finally allowed himself to crumple into Edmund's side, ignoring the hard coldness of chain mail against his skin. This was wrong, and he knew it; Edmund shouldn't be doing this, acting this soft and looking at him with such devoted eyes, and Peter knew he shouldn't be receiving those looks and quiet words and affectionate touches. He was scared, so scared that Edmund would pull away and leave him, unforgivable and broken and without any light left in his world, and he knew he should try and find the strength to go on and get the inevitable over with, to prepare his heart and soul for what was to come. Yet he couldn't pull away, not with Edmund's body cradling his and the smell of him in his nostrils, the sweat of battle and the clean, forest scent Edmund had carried with him since forever. He was too weak to be strong, and he cried even harder.

"You just _have _to be so bloody noble," Edmund said, fingers raking through blonde hair, and Peter was surprised to hear past his own sobbing that his brother's voice was dangerously choked-up, like he himself was not far from tears. His hold tightened around him so that Peter's face now rested in the nape of Edmund's neck, and Peter exhaled a shuddering breath, blinking back tears that continually fell and dampened his face as he lifted trembling hands to grab Edmund's upper arms, trying to steady himself. His chest was aching both from the physical touch of his brother and the fact that he could scarcely breathe any longer; he tried to take a great gulp of air, only to lose it to a painful hiccup as he squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face against Edmund's throat.

"Come on, Pete, stop crying," Edmund chastised gently, lightly amused even now as he moved so that his chin was resting atop the crown of Peter's head, cheek brushing his hair.

But he couldn't, not when he finally was crying, sobbing out a year's worth—actually, sixteen year's worth—of anger and grief and shame and pain; anger at Aslan when he had thought he'd been abandoned, rage at Edmund and his sisters for being so much stronger than him; guilt for having not been able to protect Edmund and his sisters, for having watched his little brother nearly die on the battlefield; shame at having ever, ever, even thought it was possible to hate Edmund, and for all the evil things he had ever said to him, for being too hard on him and pushing him away, both before Narnia and after; and pain at knowing that his home was gone, never to be the same and the way he remembered it, pain at knowing he wasn't what Narnia needed, wasn't what the girls needed, wasn't what Edmund needed.

Above him, a sigh. "Peter, at least try to breathe." Edmund's voice was lovingly laconic, tired and the slightest bit desperate, the last word nearly catching. And Peter, who was able to hear the smallest hitch in his brother's voice and know what exactly it meant, tried to do as he said, attempting to calm himself enough to stop gasping; because Edmund was beginning to be affected by his tears, and Peter knew that his brother was most likely trying to fight back his own. He took a deep breath, coughing on saliva and tears, and again tried to regulate his breathing.

Edmund's hand stroking soothingly through his hair helped tremendously, his brother's nails gently scratching his scalp, and Peter was able to gradually force his heart back down his throat and into his chest, cries turning into hiccups, then to snuffles, until he was almost limp, tears having ended and face sticky. He sniffed, pulling back just enough to move his face from his brother's neck, head now resting on Edmund's shoulder.

"Are you quite finished?" Edmund asked, trying to retrieve some normalcy by picking at his elder brother; but Peter could hear the unsteadiness in his voice, the way it was deeper than usual, rough.

"Probably not," Peter mumbled, sounding like he had an awful head cold; his nose was stopped up from crying, as was his voice. He lifted one hand from Edmund's arm and placed it on the boy's tabard covered chest, fingers tracing idly over the lion to give himself something to do, something else to focus on. Edmund chuckled, grinning a small smile down at him, one that was genuine and slightly shaken, his eyes brighter than usual but without moisture, and Peter calmed somewhat, blue eyes slipping shut, eyes that stung from crying. His own tears were hard enough to handle; seeing Edmund cry would nearly kill him, just as it always did. He sighed, looking once more at his hand, fingers nimble as they traced the Lion, knowing the last few minutes had probably scared Edmund and now feeling dreadfully guilty. "I'm sorry," he said again, aware that there was no way he'd ever be able to tell his brother this enough.

The Just was no longer smiling, instead looking at Peter with something that was a blend of the slightest of unease, that teasing quality Peter knew was secretly affection, and—to the elder brother's surprise—the faintest of amusement and exasperation. "Honestly, Peter," Edmund half whispered as he shook his head softly, clearly speaking to himself, his grin crooked as it returned. "You have such a guilt complex, you hardheaded prick."

If he hadn't been so exhausted and exposed from crying, Peter would have snapped a comeback; instead, he gave a slight pout, causing Edmund to actually laugh.

"I can see where Lucy gets that from," he said, still chuckling softly, and then Peter found he was smiling as well, even if it was a broken one, because it was nice seeing his brother laughing again.

Edmund watched him gently, smile slipping into something honest and open, and Peter realized he understood what he had been thinking. Knowing this, knowing Edmund knew him so well as to be able to read his mind, was an intimate connection, one Peter handled with honor and care, if not a small bit of bashfulness, and now was no exception; feeling like his brother could see inside him all too well, he flushed and partly buried his face in Edmund's shoulder.

The younger's hand moved from his hair to wrap back round his shoulder, and he once again bumped his chin against Peter's forehead. He sighed. "You know, you really can be dense."

Peter, still a bit flustered and a great deal ashamed, remained silent, nose pushing against the soft, bare skin of Edmund's neck.

When it became obvious that wouldn't get his brother speaking, Edmund exhaled. "I mean that in the best way possible, just so you know," he continued, hand tightening one the elder's shoulder. Peter understood that firm hold, knew without a doubt that Edmund was being honest in his statement; knowing this made it easier to open his eyes and look back up at him, but not by much. What did make things easier—and somehow even harder—was the way his baby brother gazed at him, the same emotions on his face that were in his eyes.

As if, once again, reading his thoughts, Edmund smirked, and Peter frowned slightly, forcing himself to not hide again. But then the younger king's free hand came up and cupped his jaw, causing the air to catch in Peter's throat, and Edmund was gently brushing over still damp tear tracks. "Peter," he began, voice hoarse and not quite as steady as his gaze, "do you have any idea how stupid you are?"

A spark of irritation flashed through Peter, as did one of hurt; did Edmund have any idea how this tortured him, how the idea of his brother hating him was like a knife to his heart? He opened his mouth to respond and tried to sit up, away from Edmund, but his brother had both hands on his shoulders before he had even realized it, his forehead almost pressed to Peter's, eyes serious as he said, "Let me finish!"

Those emotion fled him, and Peter closed his mouth, gazing apologetically at Edmund; although his brother was very blunt, he should have known better than to think Edmund would take this so lightly.

The younger sighed, shoulders slumping slightly under Peter's stare. "Please stop looking so sad and just listen to me, okay? Okay?" he repeated.

Realizing he was waiting for an response, Peter nodded, not quite able to murmur an reply, too amazed at seeing his brother with so much calm, handling the situation in a way that said just how old he really was, and Peter found himself thinking that at the moment, seemed like their positions were reversed, Edmund being elder and Peter the younger.

"Pete, I get it. I _get _it, even if I can't understand all of it. I know it was worse on you when we got back. We all know. And you really are an idiot if you think going back was easy for me. It was hard, trying to act like I was the same as before Narnia, but I did my best." Edmund looked down, but Peter hadn't missed his eyes darken. "But seeing you, and watching you change, was even harder."

An icy fist gripped Peter's heart, and it felt like something slammed into his stomach with the force of a tank at Edmund's words. It was awful, a smarting twinge that flew directly to his eyes and tried to make them water again, but he managed to keep himself sitting upright and away from collapsing into great, ruptured sobs. He could feel himself faintly shaking once again underneath his brother's hands, and Edmund took a moment to give his shoulders a reassuring squeeze, letting him know he was not finished. Peter couldn't completely see it as encouraging, however; he was too afraid the action was signaling more oncoming pain.

"I think I was the first to notice something was wrong with you," Edmund continued, voice softer now. "Probably because I'd become so close to you in Narnia, and I could read your emotions better than anyone. You hid it at first, but I was able to see clearly after the first few weeks just how it had affected you. You got moody a lot, and didn't even bother with Lucy as much. But we tried to bring you back, make you smile and laugh again. And, for a while, you would seem like your old self again. But I was always able to see that darkness you tried to bury on our account, that longing that was always with you. Then we went back to London, and, I don't know, you just stopped trying to hide it." Against his own shaking and through the chain mail, Peter could sense the smallest of shivers travel through his brother's hands, and he wasn't surprised; he knew Edmund and was able to detect his faintest of movements. He could tell his brother wanted to pull his hands into fists, but he kept himself from removing them leave Peter's shoulders, trying to comfort him, and Peter felt his eyes grow so clouded that he was blinking at tears.

"You weren't mad. You were downright angry, Pete, and I could understand that; you hated the world you were in and how you weren't the same as before, how you had changed. Then came the fighting, and well…you get it," Edmund mumbled awkwardly, looking up at Peter for a moment, eyes so dark the elder king could not even see their black pupils.

"Ed, I—"

Peter's mouth shut immediately at the glare Edmund gave him, too shocked to even consider speaking anymore. The 'shut up, now' was unneeded, for it was clearly there in his eyes. "If you try to interrupt me one more time, so help me, I will gag you," he warned, and Peter's eyes went wide, surprised and, more than anything, worried, because he knew Edmund was dead serious, could tell by his eyes.

So Peter simply looked at him, still a bit stunned.

Once Edmund was sure Peter got the message, the threat left his eyes and returned them to the soft darkness they had previously been, and the elder was left waiting, nerves beginning to get the better of him. Edmund gave a somewhat frustrated sigh as he looked off to the side, and Peter knew this look, understanding his brother was frustrated with himself rather than him. "Look, I'm not good at this," Edmund began, looking back to Peter, "and I'm only going to say it once, so listen up. You said I've always had your back. Maybe not from the very beginning, but I _do_, and I will back you up on almost anything because you are my brother, my king, and I trust you. Even when you did hurt me, Peter. Even then," he admitted softly, looking at the High King with those eyes that let all sentiment be visible for just a few moments, telling him just how sincere he was in his words. "I know you better than anyone. I know when you're trying to hide something, or when you're angry or in pain. So I also know when you say something you don't really mean."

Peter almost butt in, but stopped at the last moment, trying to make sense of what Edmund was saying. What was his point, that he had lied? Peter wanted to interrupt so badly and just tell Edmund that he was wrong, that he was a monster and he didn't deserve mercy. But he didn't, catching the quick glance his brother gave him.

"You know, you're eyes tell me everything. It's like they reflect your heart, so I can pretty much see you're having a hard time believing me." Edmund seemed to deflate just slightly, but he was still watching Peter with steady eyes. "But I _am _telling you the truth, so just hear me out until the end. Peter," he said, more of a shaky sigh, "you were mad, and I knew that. But I knew you were more hurt than angry, and that was why I could never fight back. I knew you just needed to get whatever was hurting you off your chest, that's why I always let you yell at me. If it would make you feel better, even for a little while, then I would gladly let you scream at me everything over you ever have and more. And I know you didn't understand then, but you do now, and I know, just as surely as you do, that you didn't mean any of it. So maybe it's a bit hard for you to realize that there's nothing for me to forgive, because I've never hated you. I hated what you were becoming, and that I wasn't going to be able to save you. But I'm even more grateful Aslan is the one who did, because you're back; _you_, Pete. You're different, yes. Everyone's different after they sin. But knowing you were wrong and having someone forgive you changes you for the better." Edmund smiled crookedly at him. "That's why I don't regret my mistakes from the first time here, not even turning you over to the Witch. Who's to say that if I hadn't, we wouldn't be like we are now? Even though I still can't completely forgive myself, even though it hurts knowing I almost lost you and the girls and Aslan and Narnia and everything, I don't regret it happened. I don't wish I could do anything over, and neither should you.

"Peter, you're good. You really are magnificent, even though you can't see it. And even though what you said hurt then, it doesn't now because _you_'re here, and _you_'re the person who made me into the man I was and the man I will be."

Peter was trembling, fighting back sobs that were building up in his chest, at Edmund's discourse, the soft, fragile honesty in his voice, and his hands gripped the boy's tunic front tightly. In return, his amazing, perfect little brother laughed wetly, lifting his hands from Peter's shoulders, and moving them to cup his cheeks as he pressed his forehead soothingly against his, breath coming soft and a bit more steadily than Peter's. The elder boy gasped, closing his eyes on the younger's gaze, breath trembling.

"Peter, look at me," Edmund gently commanded.

He obeyed because his little brother had told him to, vision slightly blurred by tears.

"And now," Edmund continued, eyes once again wide and fully illuminating, revealing just how deeply his love ran through his soul, "you're wondering if I forgive you or not, after everything you've done. Like it's actually possible for me to hate you. Like I could not love you. God, Peter, I _love _you, okay? And there's nothing you could do that's bad enough that would ever make me stop. So, to sum it up," he said, moving his head downward slightly so that he was looking up at Peter, face tilted, the tip of his nose touching Peter's, "I forgive you."

Peter's entire body quavered, tears spilled over down his cheeks once more, and a tragically desperate sob ripped past his lips as he wrapped his arms closely around Edmund's back and pulled him straight to his chest and cried. He knew he was crying almost uncontrollably, more out of relief now than shame, but he still felt that bitter mass in his chest; it was diminishing though, becoming less painful and acrimonious, Edmund's words flooding over him. Tears were slipping into his mouth and down his neck, onto his brother's throat, and, where it had actually hurt to cry, it now was a release. And Edmund said nothing, taking the moment to, much to Peter's amazed delight, place a kiss to his forehead, smiling as his own arms wrapped firmly around Peter's broader shoulders.

"I love you, Edmund," Peter whispered, kissing the place where Edmund's neck met his shoulder, holding him even tighter.

The younger boy laughed thickly. "Trust me, I can tell. I can tell," he answered, teasing and so openly affectionate for once, voice somewhat choked. Peter felt his brother's lips once more, this time against his jaw.

_Is it any wonder I love him so much?_ Peter asked himself, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Edmund was not comfortable with being the one to give assurance, but he just didn't realize how his words had effected Peter; or maybe he did. His brother, not one to use meaningful words idly and always careful with them, was able to convey his emotions better with significant expressions and touches, whether it was the soft pressure of his fingertips to the back of a hand or a full out hug and sacred kiss, as he had just bestowed upon his older brother.

Peter shuddered, a fresh wave of saltwater spilling from his eyes and down his face.

Edmund gave a sigh of mock annoyance, sniffing slightly with something that sounded suspiciously like tears. "Crybaby," he muttered.

_This is real_, Peter thought, laughing through hiccupping tears because he was so happy, smiling when he felt his brother pull him closer, close enough so that he could bury his own face in Peter's shoulder. Because he had heard the catching of tears in his voice, and felt the warm wetness on his own neck, and knew Edmund was crying too.

Edmund was still here, and he wasn't going to leave. Edmund forgave him. Edmund loved him.

And Peter found, for the first time since they'd left Narnia a year ago, he was truly, honestly happy.

* * *

><p>Later that night, the two boys lay together carefully in Peter's hammock, the tent flap closed and casting the space into almost complete darkness. No longer in chain mail but in soft, weightless night garb, Peter had Edmund pulled to his chest, his head against his brothers, arm around his waist, the heat of his little brother's body and his own tiredness steadily drawing his thoughts in less lucid directions. Edmund, though the elder boy knew he never would admit it aloud, had snuggled himself against his body, breaths coming deep and even; but Peter knew he wasn't asleep yet. Once hand lazily stroking through his brother's hair, Peter's eyes moved from Edmund's face, the boy's eyes closed and expression gentle, to front of the tent, where small fairy lights beamed through, the radiance they gave off enlightening the room for a few moments, and the sound of Narnians preparing for a night of rest came to him gently, their conversations spoken in soft whispers and the scuffling sound of fires being extinguished. All of this, the soft light and the night sounds, had a somewhat soporific affect on him, steadily making his eyes grow heavier. He was safe in the knowledge that both Susan and Lucy were in bed now, having squeezed both of them goodnight before pulling Edmund along after him, and, although he had no clue where exactly Aslan was at the moment, Peter was at peace, able to sense the Cat's presence.<p>

Peter felt a faint shift in Edmund's body, a stiffening; and he waited patiently, knowing he had something to say.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked softly.

"Anything," Peter answered without delay.

Edmund sighed gently, eyelids slowly lifting. "This morning, when we found Caspian standing before the Witch, I was scared for a minute." His brother looked up at him, eyes lit and somewhat sad. "You were really thinking about freeing her, weren't you?"

Peter didn't look away, even as hearing Edmund say the truth made his heart twinge a bit. Jadis had offered him power, and he had nearly accepted it, but at what cost? His life? Or, even worse, his siblings? No, he knew now just how foolish he had been, ever thinking he could possibly need _her _help, when all the help he needed came from Aslan.

"Yes," he replied, wishing he'd had enough faith that he could have said no and it be true.

For a moment, Edmund was silent, simply choosing to watch Peter, until it came to the point that the Magnificent King was trying not to squirm. But then Edmund gave him a soft, slow smile, one of understanding. "It's alright, though," he stated surely, snuggling in deeper. "You were tempted, just the same as me. The only difference is that you didn't succumb to Jadis."

There was only the lightest trace of anguish in his voice, and Peter fleetingly brushed his cheek to his brother's forehead. "I would have if you hadn't been there. Thanks for saving me."

Instead of answering, Edmund snorted warmly, his arm tightening where it was wrapped around Peter.

After neither had spoken for a while, Peter heard Edmund sigh through his nose deeply, and he opened his eyes to look down at the younger boy. "What's wrong?" he asked, faintly amused and the smallest bit worried, able to sense another question in his brother.

"Everything's going to change tomorrow," Edmund began quietly, eyes closed, clearly referring to the trek they would soon be making to the Telmarine palace, the castle where Caspian would rule over Narnia as king. Peter watched him blink his eyes open, their gaze locked on the High King's chest, and Peter's hand stilled stroking through the his brother's hair. "Are you nervous?"

Was he nervous? In all honesty, yes, Peter felt slightly anxious. He trusted Aslan and Caspian and knew this was right. Still, he couldn't ignore the small pang of sadness this brought along, the loss of his own castle—his home—a great bereavement. But this slight edge wasn't like what he had felt just a few days earlier, that nervous suspicion toward the future king; he just couldn't completely relax, even though he had faith in Caspian.

"A little," he admitted, directly resuming the pace in which he played with Edmund's dark hair. "I can't help but be."

Edmund's mouth quirked into a small smile, and he looked at Peter gently, eyes understanding. He turned his face against his shoulder and exhaled deeply, breath hot as he murmured, "Me too."

And Peter smiled softly as he rested his cheek on his brother's hair, knowing Edmund understood this loss just as well.

They were silent for a few minutes, Peter's thoughts drifting to Edmund; the feel of his brother supporting his weight, allowing him to cry himself out and soothe him, the words he had said that had nearly made Peter's heart burst because he was so thankful, chest and conscience lighter.

Fingers tracing through Edmund's hair, he pressed a quick kiss to his little brother's head.

Edmund was aware of it before Peter could pull away; he lifted his head, eyes confused if not content, only looking somewhat self conscious. "Peter?"

"Thank you," Peter said, voice appreciative and still tinged with the tiniest of roughness as he moved his hand from Edmund's head down to the small of his back, lacing his fingers through his left ones and pulling his brother even closer, careful not to tip the hammock.

Edmund blinked quickly. His lips parted for just a second, and then he was scowling, albeit weakly. "Would you please stop that?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I feel like it."

Edmund looked back at him, slightly amused, even as he tried not to be. "Honestly, how old are you? Five?"

"Only if you're two," Peter countered affectionately.

The younger boy rolled his eyes. "Funny. But really, it's alright, Pete. You don't have to keep thanking me, you know."

Peter grinned, quickly kissing the bridge of Edmund's nose. "Yes, I do."

Cheeks lightly flushed, Edmund looked away self consciously, not quiet able to mask the affection as he scrunched his nose. "Well," he mumbled, still not looking at the elder, and Peter chuckled. Edmund was actually being…cute, Peter decided; yes, that was the word for how he was acting. That was his baby brother, more comfortable with physical affection than words. He hardly ever allowed himself to be caught in a moment like this, and Peter found this aspect of his brother endearing. However, valuing his own safety, he decided to keep this thought to himself.

Hearing Peter's soft laugh, Edmund looked back at him, and Peter had to fight from smiling as his little brother gave him a very light, very childlike glare. And then, before he was quite aware of what was taking place, Edmund began squirming around in his arms, nearly causing the hammock to tilt but somehow able to keep it balanced, twisting his slender body until he was almost completely on top of him, Edmund's chest against Peter's stomach, his head in the crook of the older boy's neck.

Peter took a wobbly breath, surprised and beyond satisfied, as he once again had his arms around his brother, hands flat on his back, and he smiled tenderly, giving a thick chuckle.

"Aren't you getting a little old for this?" he asked, not in the least bit serious.

Edmund _humphed_, nose beneath his jaw as he buried his face against Peter's neck. "I don't see _you_ complaining," he said, breath warm on his throat.

"No, you don't."

He felt his little brother smile. "Good, so shut up."

And he did.


	3. Deleted Scene from Chapter Two: Lissy

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the world of Narnia; everything belongs to C. S. Lewis.**

**A/N: You know, I was a bit surprised to find myself posting this so quickly; I mean, I didn't expect Peter's chapter to get five reviews in three days! But, as promised, here is the missing scene, titled "Lissy". Just a head's up, this has a lot to do with a character I created because of an idea I had, and it involves Edmund and his relationship with said character. The reason I decided not to include this was because when I began editing, I didn't feel like it was crucial to the plot, but I liked it anyway.**

**So, you know how in Prince Caspian, Susan kisses Caspian, right? And Lucy says, "I'm sure when I'm older I'll understand," and then Edmund's like, "When I'm older, I don't think I want to understand." Well, that's kind of inconsistent, don't you think? I mean, I laughed at that part when I first saw it, but once I got into Narnia fanfiction, I realized that that statement doesn't really make sense because they _have_ been older. They grew up in Narnia, were adults there, and that time has carried on into their lives back in England. Well, I got curious while writing "An Older Brother's Anguish": What if Edmund, in fact, had understood romance once upon a time? And so this little bit of background was created for my version of Edmund, in which we see just how grown up he had been during the Golden Age.**

**If OCs aren't your thing, don't worry about reading this, but it honestly doesn't have any actual encountering with the character I made up; she is spoken of only in past tense, both in Peter's memories and during a conversation between him and Edmund. You'll find some of the paragraphs and sentences in here were used in Chapter Two, so it might be a little confusing, and I'll let you know where this scene would begin; the italicized words are from Peter's chapter, and would have come right before this little extra. It has no actual place of ending, so I'll let you choose where you think is best. Feel free to review if you liked this, thanks to everyone who already has reviewed, and enjoy!**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

><p><em>Peter smiled back, although it felt more like a grimace; because, even after realizing it was what Aslan had had in mind, it didn't make it any easier. Had he not realized how hard it would be on them? Didn't he know how much Peter would long to have the solid weight of a blade in his hand, to walk along the beaches of Cair Paravel? He had craved the soft talks with Susan, the adventures he had partaken in with Lucy, sword practice with Edmund, working until he was so exhausted and happy that he couldn't move from where he would fall on the ground. Lazing around on warm summer afternoons, partaking in a snowball fight, swimming through crystal waters. He would have done almost anything to go back to the way life had been.<em>

_And, he knew, so had Edmund._

Quietly, fearful of the affect this question might have on Edmund, Peter asked, "What about her?"

Edmund looked at him oddly. "Her?" For a moment, Peter thought his brother believed him to be referring to the Witch. But then Edmund's eyes hardened and softened at the same time, expression almost like he was in pain, unable to catch breath. "Oh," he said, turning his eyes downward, and Peter fought the urge to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder; either that or strangle himself for ever thinking the question was important enough to bring up. But it was important, and it had been a silent understanding this last year that if Edmund would not bring it up, neither would he. "You mean Lissy."

Lissy. Felicity had been her real name, but Edmund had immediately taken to calling her by a nickname, and she had soon become fond of it. A unique creature, not completely human and not full blooded dryad, Lissy had been fragile and willowy, only just having come up to Edmund's shoulder when he was twenty-five, and, while small, she had been stronger than she'd looked, skilled in the magic that flowed through the earth and capable with a bow and arrow. Her features petite and delicate, her outer appearance had possessed almost as much beauty as her soul; essence shining through her eyes, Lissy had had an easy way of talking, even with Peter, and, although shy at first, made friends quickly. Almost as gentle as Susan, sometimes as carefree as Lucy, often as calm and brilliantly glowing as Peter, and just as stubborn as Edmund when she wanted to be, all four Pevensies had loved her, Peter's adoration for her like that of a big brother.

But everyone knew it was Edmund who had fallen for her.

Peter had noticed right away that his brother had watched her with complete fascination, eyes pleasantly amazed, and this had only intensified the more he had gotten to know her. They had become fast companions, traveling the forests and beaches of Narnia, whether hunting or just going out for a day of doing absolutely nothing (after Edmund had gotten permission from Peter, of course). They were always seen smiling and laughing together, Edmund becoming brighter and less sarcastic and Lissy growing more confident in herself after they had met.

One night, right before Peter was to turn twenty-eight, he had asked Edmund just what exactly she meant to him.

Instead of an outright answer, Edmund had given him a smile, one that was soft and beaming and just the slightest bit shy, eyes going as bright as the Narnian stars, the lightest of blushes gracing his face.

That was the only time Peter ever asked his brother this, because Edmund's grin was all the answer he had needed; that one look had said everything.

Edmund had had a few more months with her, doing nothing and everything and steadily growing more attached to her, their bond interweaving into something Peter had yet come to understand, something beautiful and wholesome that had made him smile and feel content, all because Edmund was elated, Lissy the reason his eyes didn't darken like they had once.

But all good things must come to an end. The Pevensies had returned to Earth that fateful day, leaving Felicity in Narnia aged at twenty-three and Edmund in England, once again a boy of ten.

Fate is cruel. Peter knew this, but he also knew Edmund understood this concept just as well, if not better. The day they returned to England, when both Susan and Lucy were in their room and Peter had walked back to the one he shared with his brother, he had opened the door to find Edmund quietly crying into his pillow, hands twisted in the bed sheets, small, snuffling sobs catching in his chest. And Peter had felt himself break even more than he had thought possible at the sight of his baby brother crying for his home and the lost love fate had stolen from him. Sighing shakily, Peter had walked to Edmund's bed and sat on the edge, hesitantly resting a hand on his brother's quaking back, then began to rub soothing circles along the tense muscles. When Edmund had looked up him, eyes veined and face smeared with tears, Peter had instinctively lifted him into a sitting position just in time for a shattered wail to break past Edmund's cracked lips, and his little brother had been sobbing into his chest, hands grasping at his shirt as he had cried out something that sounded suspiciously like the name of a beautiful half dryad a wardrobe away.

That was the only time in the past year Edmund had showed any true loss, any actual pain, toward Peter. After crying himself out in Peter's arms until he fell asleep, in the morning, he had acted as if nothing had occurred, as did Peter. That was the only time Peter showed any affection or comfort toward his brother.

And life moved on. Susan had quickly readapted to English life, though still showing signs of missing Narnia. Lucy had cried the most, more than Peter himself had, until she gradually began to recover and return to her happier self. Edmund had become quieter, lost in thought more often, his smiles a little less frequent. And Peter's own healing had never really come. He had cried every night for the first week, praying he'd awake from this dream and find himself back in Narnia. When he'd finally accepted the fact that they wouldn't be back, at least for a long while, he had grown more sullen, bitter, his anger at Aslan and himself and the world growing, until it tried to consume him.

Aslan was brilliant; he had known just when to bring them back, all for different reasons, and Peter knew that if he hadn't returned to Narnia when he did, he probably would have fallen into a pit that was too deep to pull himself out of.

But what about Edmund? He had hardly worried about his brother's pains save for the first month or two, and then he had been too absorbed in his own wants that he hadn't seen what he was doing to everyone around him, especially Edmund.

Peter, pulled back from remembering Lissy and the night they'd returned and the last year, watched Edmund nervously. His brother's face looked tired, filled with pain and loss, but also something softer; maybe acceptance. Edmund had a strange, half smile on his face, one that didn't quite reach his eyes but wasn't entirely false. He closed his eyes and, without reopening them, said, "I miss her."

Peter's stomach clenched at the longing in Edmund's voice, the raw admission making it painfully obvious he was eleven, but at the same time, much, much older. It wasn't a child's wanting he saw in his brother's face; it was a man's.

Edmund drew his knees up closer to himself and crossed his legs at the ankles. "It's strange, knowing she's gone," he said, still not looking at Peter. "Like I can't quite grasp that she _is_. Like there couldn't be a Narnia without her."

Peter understood what his brother meant, knowing Edmund associated Narnia and Lissy almost as one; without one, the other could not exist. But, this time, that wasn't the case, and Peter knew Edmund secretly understood this.

Edmund looked up at him, eyes heavy. "Do you think…that it's possible she _is _still here? In some way?"

Peter sighed, pulling at his hair again. "I don't know," he murmured, wishing with all that he was that he could give Edmund the answer he wanted to hear; all he had was the one that he believed. "She was half dryad, so it's possible that she was reborn as some part of the earth."

Edmund's body shook slightly. "But did she have a soul?"

Peter blinked, eyes wide as he leaned closer to Edmund to get a better look at him. His brother didn't exactly look scared, just sadly anxious, as he stared back at Peter, eyes boring into his own.

Did Lissy have a soul?

"Yes," Peter stated firmly, knowing that this was a truth, one he had accepted from the moment he had met her. "She might have been part dryad, but she was even more human. You could see it, in her eyes. Her soul. She was too good not to have one."

Edmund looked at him, lips parted and eyes narrowed in a way that wasn't apprehensive or critical, but very fragile and encouraging, telling Peter that his words had an impact on him and that he was also able to believe in them. He nodded once, then more resolutely. "I know. Aslan…Aslan wouldn't create something that didn't have a spirit."

Peter briefly smiled at what Edmund said, but sorrow came crawling back, and he knew there was one more question he had to ask Edmund. He swallowed thickly. "Did you love her?"

Edmund looked at him, shock clear on his face, as was the coloring of his cheeks. He blinked, and then the surprise gave way to comprehension, Peter watching as his brother recognized the similarity between this question and another asked long ago. "You mean _in _love, don't you?" he asked, more of statement than an inquiry.

Peter said nothing, waiting, not sure if he should be nervous or sad or afraid of what was to come.

Once again, Edmund looked away, a smile crossing his face that was somewhat dreamy yet dejected, unattainable longing for something that could never again be his, and Peter's breath caught at this side of his brother; he had never, under any circumstances, seen an emotion like this cross Edmund's face. Edmund looked back at him, that same little smile present. "I'm not sure," he admitted thoughtfully, taking a moment to look at his hands. "I know I loved her. And that I was…falling in love with her." He sighed, giving a wobbly laugh without true mirth, and Peter understood immediately that he had uttered this sound to keep from breaking down. "But I think I was, for the most part. She made me feel fluttery and nervous, and happy." He looked at Peter, eyes sad. "It's weird, because I can't really understand being _in love _anymore, not like I could then. It came easily before, back when I was an adult, but I can't really grasp the concept now, like it isn't solid. Still," he murmured, expression steadying out, "I can remember how it felt, being with Lissy, and I think that's what it's like to be in love."

A throbbing filled Peter's heart at seeing Edmund like this, finally admitting just how deeply Lissy's absence had affected him, still yearning for the past but progressively beginning to move forward, no uncertainty in his eyes or voice. Something almost worse than nausea simmered up in his stomach, self disgust and a feeling beyond distress, because he knew that even while Edmund had not been ready to talk about this until now, he could have at least given him support and consolation; maybe not solace, but enough so that the grief wouldn't have been as deep. But he hadn't, caught up in his own selfishness, his own wants and angst, that he hadn't seen his brother's—hadn't tried or even wanted to see them.

So he grew quiet, trying to think of something else besides the painful wrenching of his stomach.


End file.
